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The Push of the Grim Reaper

Here’s the story of tragic pasta, the lack of adulthood, and falling coconuts.

Well, 12 hours without a fire is something of a record. That said, I am on to my third different cough in the last two months, so perhaps the universe is finding new ways to try to kill me. Bit of a shame. I’d have preferred a cool death, like hit by a falling coconut, admittedly, a bit of a reach here in sunny North Yorkshire. That said, I’ve arrived at that stage of long-term illness where I simply don’t care anymore. Like going to Venice. You fall in one canal and then another, and then another, and so on, you just accept the fact you’re gonna keep falling in the canals and there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t know why. Maybe the Grim Reaper keeps pushing me. Still, I’ve been on my own for 12 hours and I haven’t set fire to anything yet, so I’m considering this a good time to be alive, regardless…

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