We have managed to visit our old friend Boris in Moscow, broadcasting the show live from a hotel in the city. My thumb has been injured for awhile now. Every important movement requires sacrifice. My thumb has been just a minor tool for agreeing from a distance and to aid in the pinching of my nether region.
I've just finished giving a dying woman a drink of cold tea. Parched from a nights want, she gets satiation from what the rest of us take for granted. I am completely committed and entrenched in my program. I've managed to wake and realize that one more sand has fell through the glass and one more cell has failed me.
However, like most other survivors, I take joy in the small comforts of this giant refuse pit we decorate with holidays and the lucky. But my real comfort lies away from people.... a view of a million years with little change, no obligations, and where living is to stay alive.
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