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The night is closed. So are the stores. People wander down my street. Looking for something they'll never find. I am holed up in secret motel with food and isolation fluid. I will sleep soon, I hope. I've come to really love my early Sunday mornings in the Laundromat. Drinking coffee and reading a book while the clothes tumble around. I love the sensation of my brain cells firing. Get it all done and tuck myself away before the rest of the city wakes up. Pour myself a drink, fire up the laptop, and watch what the world is doing to itself.

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