It is now 5:06 a.m. I only get urges to reformat things when it's REALLY SUPREMELY LATE and I have to do Something Awful the next day, such as chip mortar off of THOUSANDS AND TRILLIONS of demolition-destined bricks so that we will have something from which to build our house. Chip. Chip, chip. One man's trash is another man's treasure, Elise. Chip, chip. These bricks are worth at least 60 cents a piece, Elise. Chip. Chip chip. We only have 15,763 more bricks to go, Elise.
Someone may die today.
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