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Tuesday - 7:56 p.m.

Tonight is going to suck.

After spending an entire day at school expounding forth on the merits of higher learning, I now have to go work a shift at the club where I bartend part-time. I'm already late.

Tonight is going to suck.

Tuesday nights are Tribute Band Night. Tips are always bad on Tribute Band Night. I think tonight's band is either a Tesla tribute band or the actual real band, Tesla. Either way, tonight is going to suck.

I am still at school, using the computer in the office of my mentor, who has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. I don't want to go home and use my computer. I'm starting to become afraid of my computer.

His office is now sort of my office. I am to use it as a base of operations while I am handling his course load. All of his classes are taught in the room directly adjacent to this office. The class I normally teach is located in a classroom in a building on the opposite side of campus. I will need to buy better walking shoes.

Regardless, I am using a borrowed computer, in a borrowed office, doing a borrowed job.

I told Mitchell about the entire ordeal the past few days, and he told me that he was going to get his roommates (who are also his bandmates) working on a cure right away. Those crazy fucks might actually come up with one too. They already have a crystal meth lab or something set up in their basement, and I'm pretty sure it could be easily converted over to cancer research.

Mitchell's bandmates (who are also his roommates) scare me. For reasons beyond me, they drive around town in an unmarked van that has a large radar dish on the roof, taking snapshots of pedestrians.

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