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... if you were to ask me what my thoughts were during the process of moving out, I would have just looked at you and gone – “Thoughts? What are thoughts even anymore?”
Because I had no thoughts. The bizarreness of the entire scenario hadn’t settled in yet in my ailing, failing head. My poor brain hadn’t yet come to terms with previous events and now it’s getting slammed in the front lobe with another one.
Cue the explanation.
Bowler-hat man came to my place and found that it ...
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