This will be short. It's already 12:28 p.m., and I've lost more days than I care to count. I've damn near lost an entire year. The day is bright and clear, and my curtains are all drawn. It's 59˚F. In Minsk, that's summertime.
I have three stories I need to be writing, a novella and two short stories. A very short novella and two short stories. No
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