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May 22, 2005

The Eschatologist: License to Kill

Often, I forget things. It's not old age or infirmity, but a curse eats at my mind. I can't remember who I am, or where I've been.

My mind is a chalkboard that has been erased, with just a tantalizing shadow of what was written before the cloth swept over it. A never-ending fog in the chill dawn air.

So you might think I was more than a little disturbed to wake this morning in the snaking line at the Department of Public Absolution and Ethical Judgment, covered in blood and waiting (114th in line) to pay a civil fine.

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Posted by: anon at May 21, 2005 10:48 PM · Permalink

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