Now that Spring is here, I've been feeling restless. It's not you, it's me... you never wash your hands. I'm moving to Paris with Pierre.



I've been having doubts. It's not just that you don't have a job, but I can't listen to your prattling any longer. I think I'd like to be a Buddhist monk.



I'm just going to come out and say it. I think we should go our separate ways... I don't enjoy insect-collecting. Let's break up - though I'm ok with fooling around.

More to come

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