Day One

Back: aching.

Nerves: shot.

Cat: pissed.

Nearest sign of civilization (i.e. pizza, pizza being the most important part of civilization): approx. 10,000 miles away.

Crunchy-looking hippie market the next block over: noted, but unexplored.


More tomorrow, after I've slept for eighteen hours and come up with a way to make this damn cat love me again.

P.S.

Oh. Also, seriously, remind me to tell you all about how the movers I hired turned out to be affiliated with the Russian mob (At least I'm pretty sure?? In any case, it was heavily, heavily implied) and about how they extorted and threatened me, and how one of them did that thing where he, like, reaches meaningfully for his boxcutter while making intense eye contact, but doesn't actually pick it up, not that it even matters by that point, 'cos message received, buddy. And about how even though they're gone now, and it's over and everything's cool, they still KNOW WHERE I LIVE, because

because...

It's definitely something I wanna talk about, just --

not right now.

*falls asleep in a crouching position, clutching an extra-large shard of glass*