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I don’t have much time because I think they’re on to me. Let me just get this out quickly. I’m sitting in an uncannily good facsimile of a Panera Bread in a suburb just north of Indianapolis.
If my well-trained urban senses weren’t so sharp, I might be lulled into believing I’m in civilization instead of some surreal twilight-zone joke.
As I sit here hacking away on my daughter’s pink Sony VAIO, my family lay asleep at my wife’s sister

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