By the next morning I was trying to figure out how I could've failed such a momentus?  In the back of mind I knew, ballpark, just the prop actors across the c the city, a VIVA CELL car driving by?,  the coordinating, they got their timing wrong on the narrow street with the  dump truck, i  kinda had to play along—300 grand to...who knows the budget they had at their disposal—I couldn't get to her.  I ran home.  Like opps, did I just blow it?   Richard Greene's video comes on, uploads like clockwork, the Neanderthal, basically what they had massaged the night before streaming into  my room.  I'd put a cup to the wall and it was just Seinfeld, my love.  Brilliant! You guys see me flipping through all the channels trying to be in tune?  The music each time you guys would come back from commercial.  Unmistakable.  That was dark.  That was my soundtrack!   That was not on my TV.    You Can't argue with the logic from his review, but all the facts sounded so tender the night before.

About an hour later, trying to grasp how I could be so lazy when they saved my life—if she's apart of it, she just did "Operation Free Me."  She just got rid of me without putting emotions into.  I would never know what hit me!  And I had no room to speak if I did—i'd have to play along.  

that was after day one