"Get this right and you'll be out of here in no time. Age?"
"29."
"No, you're wrong. 31, soon to be 32."
At this rate, an abacus might soon become a staple in my apartment.
Years, cups, ounces.
Millimeters, inches, miles.
2 hours to a pack.
A life begins to burn immediately.
Circumspection, retrospection.
Insight, introspection.
There's no such thing as being born too late or too early.
Mysterious?
I don't intend to be.
There is such a thing as asking too many questions.
Hang it up, disconnect.
The allure of mystery.
Imagination.
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