User:A Helpful Little Gnome/NoteBookBack1
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Ingame
You are on a street. Grass pokes up between cracks as usual, and near the end at a bend is a characteristic road-block of cars, cement blocks and dead buses. Somebody has spraypainted the only safe place left is Latrobe onto a wall. It is a forward message.
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User:A Helpful Little Gnome
* It has been far too lucky to have spent the last while entering buildings without a care to what dead things lurk inside: and upon finding that no dead things lurk inside, except for the small portion of dead things that really are dead, you find your confidence enlarged and disproportionate to sensible reality. This confidence becomes carelessness, becomes panic, when luck becomes that sensible reality.