2003-08-06 || 9:29 a.m.

|| hard to detect. harder to fix. ||

it's rip-van-winkle-like, waking up one morning to find all the numbers you know by heart reach recorded messages announcing they are no longer in service and you dropped the ball on that one, you terrible negligent friend you. you have a closet crammed with all the birthday presents you meant to get and deliver; your calendar is marked up with social events and hang-out dates in phantom red ink that blurs to strange symbols with all the serial flaking; you don't want to call anyone up for fear of that initial few seconds of unrecognition in the 'hello, who's this?'

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