Friday, January 3, 2014

Next Time I'll Eat an Apple

When the doctor took me to a dank apartment and hooked me up to a machine, I had to ask, “Is this one of those death machines I’ve been hearing so much about?” The doctor looked around nervously. Sweat seemed to trickle from his forehead. Then he made a quick phone call where the doctor kept talking about some guy who was “on to them.” Then he came back and finally answered my question. “No,” he said. That was all I needed to hear.

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