Every night, the table is set, the corporations are chosen, the preludes played, the projects planned. The red planet is terraformed, bit by bit, until it's all over. The final score is tallied. I win. But every night, the margin is smaller. Those dark, hungry eyes...
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If one day I stop tweeting, you'll know what was the outcome of the previous night's game.
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If, in the act of confabulating a bit, I make my girlfriend sound frightening, I can assure you that she's a lot scarier than that in the flesh. And that's wonderful.
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