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April 7, 2006
The silence gets interrupted by the return of the big-boobed waitress, Mary. She's bearing a tray with four palm sized cinnamon rolls, a pitcher of coffee, and one cup. My eyes dart up. Pitcher. Pitcher of coffee. Something's happening that could make my life easier. Maybe God's lessened His eternal hatred of me.
Unless it's decaf.
Fuck.
It's gonna be decaf. I just know it. No way that shithead in the sky could let anything beneficial happen to me. It'd spoil His fun.
"Emily, here's yours,"says Mary cheerfully as she plops down a steaming, presumably spit-free cup of coffee.