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Sunday, September 11, 2005
Just as I was about to leave from work on Wednesday, the weird coworker sidled up to me. "So, are you doing National Novel Writing Month again?"
"Yeah, sure," I said.
"Then can you please kill me? Like, write me into your novel: I can be a low-grade zombie and then you can kill me off."
I promised to definitely kill his literary alter-ego.
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