[ apparently buffy's journal is wedged open somewhere in the living room of house seven; all day, it has been broadcasting sporadic glimpses into a rather uneventful tuesday in the life of luceti's slayer. unlike other spectacularly juicy or entertaining accidents that the village possibly thrives on spectating, this round of she-doesn't-know-you-
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What are you looking at? [ unrecognizable indeed! ] Take a damn picture, it'll last longer.
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Summers?
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Patrolling in this weather?
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Whether sleet or snow or rain or freaky cold snaps. I'm like the postman of fighting evil.
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[ unlike some people I know is left unsaid. no point in referencing his careless best friend. ]
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[ buffy you can't catch frostbite. ]
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[ duh. ]
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