scotch

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I am like old men in stories.

At the end of particularly bad days* I sit in “my” chair (it is not my chair) with my scotch, and watch the last of the light of the day, and try to remember when that same light was warm.

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* Which is to say, those where your hard work has been rewarded with the curtailment of your opportunities at self-betterment in favor of taking on the work of others because, hey, you have all that time now thanks to that hard work, right?

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