September 26, 2011

Once upon a time in the west something happened. A disillusioned young sequence facilitator trembled in fury. Some useless piece of pond scum had eaten the last doughnut. The young facilitator smashed his head against the wall four times, upping the violence of the action with each repetition. He stepped back, took two deep breaths, broke off a neat section of chocolate bar and slipped it between his bleeding lips. He left the room after delivering a final vicious kick to the vending machine. Soon he was back in his office, facilitating sequences as if his life depended upon it. And it did. Oh, yes, it did.

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