*Ahem.*

WOE IS MY LOVE. I SHALL POSE ATOP A CAR.

( In Numerical Order: )

And "approximate" is an adjective, except when it's a verb.

( In Approximate Event Order: )

CHRIST MY HEAD HURTS.

I was not the only adult in the store crying when midnight finally struck.

A few girls in the restroom were complaining about our local psychonaut. He affects a British accent and has been creepily interested in me since I was fifteen. But he's like that with all the female customers of a certain shape, "Can I be of any help out of your blouse drool drool?"

He's harmless, really, but they seemed reassured by my telling them so.

That's all I have to say about it, more or less, until the paperback's release.

To my chagrin, I'm realizing I haven't enough prompts left to cover the entire situation; I suppose that leaves the audience room to draw conclusions, or leap to them as it please their leisure.

( Thirty-seven to forty-five. )

I'm sore.

GOD, man! I'm trying to SAVE him!

I do not want to mow the lawn. >_

I've been preparing these over the last month. Does honesty make them less cool? Oh, well.

( Twenty-two through thirty-six. )