Hadjare sat at her beat up, old Office Max desk that Tim had bought her for her 23rd birthday. She joked that it was really the red necks equivalent of a state-of-the-art surround sound system for pick up truck. Days after the desk was assembled, a computer founds its way to roost on top, with Tim as it’s perpetual companion.

“Man,” she thought staring at the screen, “I have nothing to write about.” A sinus headache, only slightly dulled with generic tylenol, drained her creative energies. Minutes dragged by as she debated whether or not it was appropriate to put quotes around thoughts, and a dog squeezed a squeaky toy in the background. From the living room plants, buttons, books, and people screamed as they were picked up by a large, sticky rolling ball. Hours earlier she had played the same game herself rolling over chickens, boxes, cows and eventually buildings, boats, light houses, whales and sea monsters. It had been two days since she beat the game and yet she still couldn’t get enough of rolling over crap.

“Whoever thought of Katamari Damacy is a freaking genius,” she whispered as she typed. She stared a moment longer and then decided she would include a Week in Pictures in her small publication to make up for the lousy article. “Tomorrow,” she stated and turned off the computer for the night.

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