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December 18, 2001
When I can't put it off any longer, I call Raff's place. I really don't know what to say; I decide that I'll just take it one day at a time. Or rather one night at a time. Maybe the Vile will lose interest in me after a couple of weeks. Maybe he'll get hit by a speeding drunk driver as he slinks across the road. Maybe Raff has been secretly hoping that I'll ask him to move in… his dog is already here, after all.

But all I get is the wavering answering machine. Raff is not at home.