eight. text.

Feb 12, 2011 20:20

(Four hours and eight minutes.)

I have been in this City for three months. If I were a baby, I would barely be able to hold my head up. If I were a fetus, I would just now be developing fingerprints. My intestines would be rotating, whatever that means. I know it sounds unpleasant, but don't worry. Fetuses can't feel pain until the third trimester.

If I were a goldfish, I'd probably be dead.

(Three hours and fifty-eight minutes. Minus ten minutes spent typing 'baby and fetal development' into yahoo.com.)

Apparently Monday is a holiday. This is usually where I'd make some pithy comment and well-deserved dig at Hallmark, but I know you can fill that in. Pretend I used a lot of smileys.

(Three hours and fifty-five minutes.)

If you had crazy immortal super powers and could never ever die, what would you do about it?

(Three hours and forty-two minutes.)

(This is your life, and it's going on indefinitely.)

I'm sorry I told everyone they didn't exist. Sometimes I make silly jokes that don't really mean anything.

† n/a | the narrator

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