Before me stood a white labcoat encrusted vision of awesomeness. His ignorance of my vanishing and my return meant he had no idea, no idea at all. He had walked directly into what clutches a man such as myself possessed, leathery and moist, and with gentle palpatations, fate was rubbing my facial features into a more pleased arrangement. If he thought me myself from an earlier time, then he would trust me, and i could isolate him, and slay him. This was too good to be true. Oh Tyra Banks, you are going to die. But how will that death affect me, and where was my Tyra Banks?
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