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2002-06-05 - 7:40 p.m.

Tonight I�ll be dreaming about fucking credit card numbers - the profanity there being used as an adjective, and not the gerund of a popular verb. I hope. My new job is to input an unending stream of them as they spew out from the fax machine like so much paper-bound numerical vomit. Sorry. I don�t like numbers. They make me edgy. My colleagues are a couple of students about a decade younger than me and even THEY�RE not thrilled with the pay, so you can imagine how great I feel about it. Furtive calls to job agencies are like jailbreak pleas � �You�ve GOT to get me out of here� � but I can only put off signing that contract for so long. You can�t run from the admin police. Me and the photocopier are also already on friendly terms. All this and enforced sobriety for two days on top of no money for cigarettes. I�m gonna crack and go berserk with the staple gun, just you watch.

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