Luckily I've never had the experience of vomiting while on a date. That alone seems worthy of a story. And the story of such an experience is yet to be written, because this story ends up being so much more than the simple awkwardness that would result from such an occasion. Early on, I found myself at times frustrated at the seemingly inhuman actions of the story's characters, and then--and then it begins to make sense. This is a story about insanity, about memory, about slowly losing one's mind, written from the point of view of the one losing it. Interesting reading here at Prick of the Spindle.
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