But what would have been the point, I would be alone no matter what. The volume of last night, the volume of people, the beer, the volume of the sound of my own voice spilling out of me, the feeling of my own voice in my throat, nothing accomplished, the sheer volume of everything I was unable to accomplish last night covering me, a dome, a crate, a cloud, a blanket. Better to be inside, better to be sick like I am now than to be out not accomplishing what I thought I might accomplish. Bitter, my whole body, my whole insides, everything about me that my body makes but that isn’t of my
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