Doubt. Apprehension. Guilt.
What are they good for? Ask Coworker Mitch. He is the embodiment of those pitiful adjectives and combined they form cowardice.
We had ourselves a chat today and doubt has crept into his tiny brain regarding our forthcoming competition. Making him roll up his long sleeves, I notice the concealed track marks. Pathetic scabs and bruises, he should be ashamed of his craftsmanship.
His arm is sore.
His energy is low.
Boohoo.
We've come too far to turn back now. After some sweet talking, Mitch came around. Despite the doubt, apprehension and guilt, despite the cowardice, despite his tiny brain, he's planned well and everything is squared away. The end is near. And so is the beginning.
After all, destruction is creation. If you ask me I just think he likes to complain.
Today's Jazz Hands were convincing.
Day three-hundred and thirty-nine complete.
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