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October 3, 2006


Good or evil,
wrong or right,
what is the vice
that keeps you up at night?

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Jim: Brain Power

When it comes to planning these things, there’s a fine line between being cleverly Machiavellian or devising something crudely Rube Goldbergian. A very fine line, indeed.

Sure, I’ve made a few mistakes but I learn from them and try again. Nobody said this would be easy.

One of my most valuable lessons is that even the best-laid plans can come to ruin if you don’t have the right accomplices. Sometimes, though, you have to make do with what’s at hand.

So once more, with a small sigh, I answer his inevitable question, “The same thing we do every night, Pinky…”

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David: Media Whore

Five networks, sixty seven cable channels, two video cassette recorders, three hours of prime time.
Sitcoms, crime shows, legal shows, military shows, behind the scenes shows, quirky family dramas, disaster shows, science shows, mystery shows, science fiction shows, reality shows, serials.
New series, replays of former pay channel series, returning shows, new shows.
Two hundred DVDs.
Sorkin, Abrams, Whedon.

I watch. I tape. I watch what I tape. I can’t wait because there’s more coming tomorrow. Average six hours of quality programming every night. Then I have to see what they think on the internet.

Sleep is for the weak.

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Michele: In The Still of the Night

I don’t want to go back to sleep. Sleep is where the dreams are. And dreams are where the reminders are. Monsters shaped like failure that stalk me all night long. Dark alleys and dead ends and old friend with stab wounds in their back from knives I’ve sharpened.

So I don’t sleep anymore. I’ve been awake for three days now. Afraid to hit the pillow. Afraid of my brain showing a movie that reenacts every wrong turn I took. Every bad choice I made.

I hate my bed.

Monsters shaped like failure.

That’s what keeps me up at night.

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Ted: Vice or Virtue

Venus Kallipygos is not just a statue; She is an icon that calls to Her worshippers. My quest was to find in life what was discovered in stone. Venus herself, full bodied, fertile, exuding the essence of sensuality.

Every night I went out, searching for my goddess. Her perfection was not to be found. Her soul seemed not to be incarnate. I devoted my nights to searching the beaches and bars, cafes and coffee houses.

Having lost my job, my money, my apartment, and accidentally killing my best friend, I never expected to find her here: to grant me absolution.

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Stacy: Addiction

She lay in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling. Her husband snored rhythmically beside her. Why was she still awake?

She tried turning over. Her husband snorted, rolled himself tighter into the blankets.

She kicked one foot restlessly. One of the cats pounced on it, mock-growling, and she gasped as claws bit into her ankle.

“Screw it,” she grumbled, staggered into her robe, and to her desk. The computer booted up silently, her pulse quickened as she navigated to the familiar red, blue, yellow and green.

Her husband found her there in the morning, inbox overflowing with successful bid notices.

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