Cursed work ethic. I’m shower-fresh, but just want to go back to bed. No, siree, mr journal. As soon as my shirt is on, I’m calling a cab.

Forgot to mention met the new tenant in the old hippies’ apartment… an obese black guy, bald with shoulders that join, neckless into a lump of a head. Seems like a nice fellow, though. He has an easy smile, and is willing to talk to neighbors just coming home from work.

Newt knows when I get ready to leave… once I put keys and money in my pockets, he heads for the fron door, and sits tight there, and plays with my shoes there, waiting for me to have to take them, and watch him hop into the front window to watch me head to work. I want to work from home today, but it’s not an option.

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