There is snow, though. I'm taking this opportunity of an almost unbearably cozy day to write a story about a down-and-out writer. It's pretty depressing. There was even a mean guy who described her style as a "clinical rape of Frank Herbert." I think maybe I should move on to more cheerful premises.
I just finished season 4 of Bones. I want The Lab to be a real nightclub, so I can go there all the time and listen to Sweets' cutesy band.
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