[ 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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Guessing they don't really see the value in a cute coat, where you're from?
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