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I wanted to tell this stuff to the screenwriter, but I did not.
My roommate poked me and said he had to go. I had to go, too. It was late, and I was tired. I left the Sputnik and emerged onto the street to wait for the Muni, thankful for colors other than silver and black.
He hugged me and again said how sorry he was. "I'm Zen," I assured him. And I was.
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