On Wednesday, the doctor who supervises the nursing home where Bobbe lies, mute and half paralyzed, makes his rounds. I need to set the trash out and go shower, so I can see if he knows anything or has any prognosis, even guesses.

According to the dashboard, as of 0900 I have six readers. Amuse yourself as well as you can, folks. Try not to break the servers.

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UPDATE 11:30 AM — well, that was a bust. The doctor didn’t show up. “Maybe tomorrow,” Joyce says. Bobbe was snoring, so I didn’t wake her.

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