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One of the strangest and most beautiful things about this place is your presence here. You live your life out there in the big yonder, and yet you and I have come to be good friends. Here in this poorly lit little backwater dive. I wander around, muttering to myself, blissed out or grumpy, throwing stuff up on the walls, dragging you by the arm and pointing-

“Look at this. Look over here. Look. Lookit. Sheesh…”

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Here’s to you! This place just wouldn’t be the same without you.

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I am forever having movie stars come by for cameo appearances in my dreams. Last week Anthony Hopkins appeared in my dreams as an aging, heroic king. I was his right hand man. A combination of Lear and Don Quixote, Hopkins raged against the walls of his castle with his huge sword, swearing and crying and hacking away, the sound of his blows ringing out over the hills.

Steve Buscemi came by last night. That guy just wouldn’t shut up. He was carrying a big phone book, jabbing me in the ribs with it…

“Call them, dude. Give ’em a call. Whyn’t you call ’em already, huh? Tough guy. Just pick up the fuckin’ phone why doncha.”

Gimme a break already.

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I do not want to die anytime soon, thank you very much.

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