"He could not understand why he had needed so many words to explain what he felt in war because one was enough: fear"--One Hundred Years of Solitude
"We're democratic, in some ways"--The Prisoner
Dreamed of surviving a plane crash near a hill beside the road between Sackville and Moncton and starting a long walk along that road; singing at karaoke a long poem of social comment by a Pablo Neruda-type Hispanic "magical realist" author, with a melody I was making up as I went along; having the discretion to quit in the middle.
Went to Mission: Possible to tell them about the job possibility. Seems that Dann's back is bothering him again and he had to take health leave, so Debbie is back on my case. (It's a shame I didn't get this chance while he was still in charge of me, so he'd have something to show for his time.) I also stopped by Hollywood Canteen again and bought a book about Saturday morning TV and a reduced-price coffee-table guide to horror movies.
Dinner was KFC.
Went to Yuk Yuk's for the Writer's Meetup. I didn't meet any other group members, but I did get to see some mostly weak shtick. (I liked this East Indian guy who talked about video store customers and their lack of social skills
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