I’m pretty sure I’m not hearing it just because I happen to be eating raisins. By the way, have I painted a sad enough picture yet? I snack on dried fruit in my cubicle while listening to Peter Cetera and artists like him. Why don’t they just take me out to the back of a barn, shoot me and put me out of my misery? The silver lining to this dark cloud is that I now have the perfect name if I ever open a bagel shop.

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