Wrapped myself up in multicolored scarves, red nose peeking out; I caught my reflection in the kitchen door--I looked like a startled reindeer. Went to dinner at the Chinese place around the corner. Fortune cookie said: Worry is interest paid in advance for a debt you may never owe. What part of fortune cookie do they not understand? I'm not getting it.
Peter left to paint his portrait of V. He'll burn it later as therapy. Family called and cousins, aunts, uncles, parents yelled "Happy Anniversary" into the phone. A great time is being had by all, I was glad to hear.
I'm ringing in the new era writing. I call it appropriate.
Each time the clock hits the hour, I wonder where the fireworks are being shot.
It went something like this: Erm. Uh oh. What the hell? Oh, fuck. I don't want to watch this. I see where this is going. Ain't this sweet? Ha ha ha. Told you so. Heh. Why so difficult? Peter now knows everything John knows. Including wormholes. We're hot to Anna, but not to rescue Evelyn (who is safe and sound on board of mine). To rescue Peter. Nerve in reverse, down to the PK uniform.
That'll teach John to let the guy who tortured him stick a spike in the back of his neck. The boy never learns.
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