Just... Jesus. I'm sorry about how... crazy I must have seemed yesterday. I've been drinking a little... okay, more than a little (yet my experience with up-all-night writing allows me to be drowning in alcohol and still type without error) This has just got me on edge. Michael Moreau was a true legend when it came to action movies (he was even the dashing spy Agent Jones in the action trilogy "Singled Out", "Double or Nothing", and "Triple Dog Dare") and his death came as a surprise to us all. His funeral will be on the 21st of August. The laughing has died down a little, but I can still hear the occasional chuckle. I hate that laugh now. I'd rather cut off my ears than to listen to it. But I'm not gonna cut off my ears or anything.
While I was walking down the street, I noticed a man following me... or at least I think he was following me. He was a very tall, pale guy. I didn't get a chance to look at his face, but I could swear that everywhere I went that grey suited tall person was following me. I ate at a very lovely cafe, but I didn't eat much. My nerves are on end, but I can't quit now. I'll have to recast.
The show must go on.
Hopefully without accident.
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