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2003-05-14 - 8:14 p.m.

My friend Gregory was a 1974 red Pontiac GTO. He didn't talk much, but we got along just fine. We left the war behind and hit the highway, the sky glowed dully pink down on us, sparkling and flashing like raspberry ginger-ale. It was a good two weeks since Sophie had stolen my heart, I don't know why I was even chasing her anymore. I didn't have a body after all, whats the use of a heart without a body? Maybe there was something there my soul just couldn't let go of yet, something not quite mine. The trail was easy enough to read, the goddamn thing just wouldn't stop bleeding. But she was fast, and she was clever, always one step ahead of us. One day we found the room she had stayed in the night before in an old ababdoned hotel. The whole place was black and sticky with congealed blood. My blood. Except for the eerie white outline where she had slept on the bed. Seeing the shape of her body on those sheets made me feel things I didn't like to feel, and I had to leave. Gregory's radio only played the same two or three songs over and over again, real softly, as if just to himself. He was pretty sensitive and I had a feeling he wouldn't want me messing with his dials, but after a while it started to drive me a little batty. I wished he would change it or at least play it loud so I could hear what the singer was saying. All I could make out was something about "end of the night" or "bendin' the light" or something like that. Guess it didn't really matter. After all we'd been through together, it was a real small thing, and it wasn't worth getting upset about.

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