It is at this point in my reading of Scott’s work that I resolved to kill him if I ever met him. To put my hands on his throat and choke him to death as he stares, confused, into my emotionless face. No, actually I never thought that about Scott. I’ve never thought about killing him until I wrote that sentence. Then, when I wrote that sentence, I went off into a staring fantasy where I kind of envisioned it up until the moment he dies. Shit, now that I wrote that, I actually imagined him dying. And you know what, I’m a lot sadder than I thought I’d be, having fantasized in vivid detail about
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