Owen is sleeping on my floor-p[w'c;[ignore] Owen is pawing my books. "Quit pawing my books Owen." He didn't stop, yet. It's 12:35 on a saturday Fast forward a week. Not much has changed. We still live the crumb life. Yearly evaluations are coming up . I'm going to get six points deducted from my score because of the misplaced period on the last line. Luckily, I accrued a decent savings point bonus in the spring. Mother sends her love, but I only think she's doing good to have something to show during the evaluation. I sneezed and I have a cough. I'll probably eat a cup of mushrooms tomorrow and I'll feel better. Horace better have some fresh ones down at the market and he better not have his fucking fish guts in the aisles again. Back to today, it's 12:43. Not much has changed. Owen quit pawing my books. Now he's working on words for the evaluations. "What word are you working on now Owen?" He never answered. I imagine he said, "Pigeons" and then told a decent story of the gathering birds by the lamp post.
¶ 12:41 AM