After looking around the warehouse, I feel a lot more confident. Even though we had to run over a puppet in our drive for the bus, things are going to be a lot better. It looks like we might be able to pull this off--assuming Infi favors us. Our convoy keeps on growing. Luckily the helmet that I stole along with the cycle has a built-in radio band, which jives with the stolen equipment. But stolen isn't the right word. If I were a spiritual man, I'd say it was requisitioned into a greater cause.

But I'm not. We needed it--they didn't. It's as simple as that.

The decision has been made to keep Jhasen in the back of the bus, a low, long blood red cooler. It works out well, because he fits quite nicely. Scott, Jeff and I lined the bottom with evercool packets, put Jhasen in and then put a few more packets along the top. That should work out a little bit better. It's too bad the body is as far along as it is--he's still going gonna have to spend time on top of the caddy, because the smell becomes too strong after a while. Like some sort of meat factory permutation went mad, and began hacking everything in site, without moving the old product. Product.

What a sterile word.

Putting on the motorcycle helmet makes me feel a lot better. I've strapped the shotgun under my jacket, across my back, and it fits nicely. Things are going to be ok. I think. But I feel the urge to get out on the road again.

"Every minute I sit here, I get weaker. Every moment Charlie squats out there in the bush, he gets stronger."

--Letters from a Savior; Offer for a few--


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