Doors

[Public]
First, my realtor didn't go warning me that folks would be shooting each other in the middle of the night. Now, we got fires and things that smell like a library burning? I'm waiting on hearing squawking from someone strangling themselves a chicken next.

[Chi has to take this present thing slow.]

[Ivy, Poison.]

There such a thing as a plant pound?

[Quasimodo.]

[Intentionally English.]

You got problems.

[Sam A.]

Next time you decide to send me something, don't.

[Public.]

[We're not at all afraid by the number of people who bother to send us things. No. We don't care. We are an island.]

People need to sign your damn Christmas cards. Otherwise it's like getting caught in a yard sale. With tinsel.

And don't think I don't know who is sending the shitty books.

[Significantly, Daniel has not yet given anybody one damn thing. He still has a couple days to do it, though. Theoretically.]

[He's been reading for most of the night, poring over other people's lives. It's very much like a book, but better, since new things appear all the time, and the people are real. Or he hopes they are. In the early hours of the morning, his curiosity finally wins out.]

[public]

[Posted anonymously.]

This is all real, is it not? C'est vrai?