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I’m writing this on my iPhone. I’ve been in this room for 36 hours and I don’t see an exit. I don’t know how I got here or where I am, and I don’t know who put me in here. This room, it’s so white. So clean. I can’t breathe, it’s so white in here. Everything except for the television. That goddamn television. Forever playing the same goddamn thing. I’ve been watching Series 4 of Prime Suspect the whole 36 hours, but I don’t see a DVD player anywhere. Someone is out there controlling this, and it’s scaring the hell out of me.
I’m sorry, Jerry, but, much as I loved Bee Movie, I don’t have time for film and television anymore. I’m far too busy working on the project that has become my lifeblood — the Surowieckipedia. For decades, people have asked me questions about myself — how I’m doing, where I’m from, where I went to university, et cetera. I’ve come to realize that, with the Surowieckipedia, these questions will become obsolete, and people will never need to ask me them again; I plan to use the extra time working on the Surowieckipedia.
Excerpt: James enjoys blackberry jam, but only sometimes. He finds that too-frequent ingestion can cause the sensation of having a hundred mad dancers in one’s belly. Not unpleasant, but something for which a measure of preparation is necessary. He will frequently indulge in strawberry jam, as an alternative. Also, he enjoys the music group ‘Genesis’ quite a lot.
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I often stroll the windy canyons of Park Avenue with scarf tight, hands jammed in pockets, and winter cap secure, leaving only my nose exposed to the New York air. This, naturally, leads me to dwell upon the scents I encounter during my flâneur, and, of late, I have noticed a preponderance of maple in the air. After some measure of investigation with my contacts within the New York Public Library and City Hall, I was unable to make any headway; it appeared I’d have to take it upon myself to solve this riddle, which at this point was keeping me up long nights, to the endless chagrin of my wife.