[The feed opens up to a truly stunning view of the floor, where it wobbles back and forth slightly. Very British, annoyed mumbling can be heard in the background.]
-stupid, what's the point of having a book about- completely and totally pointless, must've been a hell of a night
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[He's quiet for a second, and when he starts up again, he's serious.]
D'you think she's alright?
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Yah. It's all odds, anyway, and you can't always have bad ones.
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[Pause.]
You're still bonkers, though.
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Like I'd even be talkin' to your crazy-eyed ass if I wasn't.
The sneezes are aliens called Vogons. They get off on doin' the boring shit nobody else wants ta do and write really crap poetry in their spare time. You don't hafta worry 'bout them.
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Anyway-
So, they're like Dormie. Makes sense. Smell a bit more like Ratty, but, just the same.
-Poetry? Really?
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I'd ask yours, but you've been chain smoking for the last forty minutes.
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More like the last ten years. Who don't like pretty girls in wet dresses?
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So, this is it, then? Wonderland's gone, and all I've got to show for it is a book and a towel.
Is it like this for everyone?
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Right. That's...
Very... not good.
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