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There is a certain kind of perverse pleasure to be derived from missing deadlines, from googling yourself, from smoking-nonsmokerness.

Standing in Khaadi this morning sleep still stinging in my eyes I could almost taste the tangibility of moments coming my way. Smiling all the way to the car, to work, to tea and breakfast consisting of lunch I promise to be a better person, maybe just for the day, and it all seems to work out.