Robert Wynne Thin I am so tired of everyone saying I'm sick when really all I want is to be happy. But then, how does that work? Money's all fiber— it just passes right through you. Spotlights have no flavor at all. And words choke me with their sharp edges and barely hidden agendas. I'm beginning to believe happiness doesn't exist, that nothing can truly fill me up. I've tried everything but food. Still, your camera's enticing with all it can contain. Are you going to eat that?

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