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to the world of the Muntz. But that didn't matter either. Nothing did, only I was still too stubborn at this point to give it up. So I went on the Net that night, and tried to warn people, but I gave that up and switched to query mode, asking my Usenet newsgroups, "anybody know anything about movie Muntz TVs?" And then it was morning, and I shaved movie and I went to work, only a fucking fifteen minute ride on the fucking Number 4 with those new energy-efficient doors of theirs. I went through the motions, but it became obvious what was happening, and after the 20th of November, I stopped going altogether, phoning in to say I was sick the rest of the week, which in a way I most certainly was. I divided my time between the Net and the Muntz and the brand-new Sony Trinitron in the bedroom I'd bought Laura for her last birthday. On the new Sony, Bush was still president, into his third term after Reagan was assassinated by Hinkley and LBJ had never been President, nor Gerald Ford.
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I didn't bother looking for her. She had disappeared during her nineteenth nervous breakdown and had always come back frank dileo again. Maybe she would this time and it would be no different than the times before, or then again maybe not and she'd never return. But I didn't think it would make much difference now. I had begun to see what was going down, what rough beast was just around the corner, slouching toward Bethlehem frank dileo as the falcon lost contact with the falconer in the widening gyre and fuck frank dileo Yeats and his stupid poem, this was serious shit and I couldn't do a motherfucking thing about it except go through the motions and in the end just let it happen. I didn't look for Laura -- whose name I was getting to be pretty sure wasn't really hers anyway, no more than "Rob" was mine. I mean, "Rob and Laura" as in Rob and Laura Petrie was a little too close
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