Nathan Savin Scott

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Don’t kill anybody. There might be a time in your 20s when you encounter a situation where you’re like, man, I could totally get away with killing this person. Police wouldn’t have a motive. No one would ever know.

She told me she’d been too sick to cook dinner, and if I’d mind. I smiled. She blew me a kiss because she didn’t want to get me sick. I walked to the kitchen and, even though I was exhausted after a long day at my job, I got to work cooking a plain dinner neither of us would remember.

Perhaps the strangest thing about all this was how little I cared about who was responsible for the attack. I’m sure I will. I’m sure one day, when I learn who did this, I’ll lose sleep, and feel rage, real rage, and want to see them (or him, or her) killed. I’ll want blood. I’m no better than anyone else.

Then, after delivered dinner, I drink six Red Bulls, and it’s back to another Serious Work Time to actually get some stuff done. That usually lasts until midnight, and then it’s asphyxiation time!

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