A record 15 hours locked on the fourth floor of an abandoned psych ward amongst rubber helmet patients, checking for stains on moldy love seats in isolation rooms is disturbing enough.
But the fact that I am so depleted by nights end, I rob you of the pleasure of reading the full disclosure reminiscent of One Flew Over a Cuckoo's Nest and all its maniacal details is just a shame.
Memo for tomorrow...
I will write on set.
I will write on set.
I will write on set.
I will. I will.
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