Oh, hey, now I know we have a Wall-E. He blew up a random suitcase just beneath my window just now. I didn't even know we have a bomb squad in the city. Wouldn't think we had any bombs. It's not like there's ever any people in the streets. Granted, what we do have are a lot of remnant explosive devices from the wars, often either lying around or some retard brings them home from finding them in the woods or something. With some luck, they just blow themselves to bits, though from time to time a few houses also get dislocated. I've had several panic attacks in the past few days and now the General mentioned the military storehouse is just opposite of their new postal centre, with two gas-filling factories on each side of the rail track nearby and a gas-line right pass.
Yes. I don't think I've been anxious quite enough. I need to get a little more anxious. With a fucking bomb robot blowing shit beneath my window.
I have to say, though, that my survival instinct is nill. I walked out into the street with Starbark and saw blockades of police and firefighter vehicles on each end of the street and heard someone shouting: Get back!! Get back!! and I just ignored them, as if, don't mind me, you do your thing, I'm just walking my dog. An officer stuffed me back into the house and forbade me from coming out awhile. How rude. What do bomb scares have to do with my evening doggy walk routine? Routines are important. They make one feel in control.
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