"be still, the sparrows of despondency!"
matt implores, gin in hand
convulsing in ecstasy at the thought
of gregg's name
- by the IOD
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this is the subset of what goes on in my head that is fortunate enough to make the treacherous journey through the nerves in my neck, arms, and hands, down through my fingertips and onto the keyboard, through the wires, the computer, and the network, across the country on fiber optic lines, finding a permanent home in the electric memory of some server in san francisco.
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