Soulless

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zachery_icon.gif diogenes_icon.gif

Scene Title Soulless
Synopsis Diogenes visits a bookstore and stumbles upon Zachery, a man whom he finds both interesting and a worthy potential ally.
Date October 17, 2009

Ichihara Bookstore

Nestled in the heart of the main street marketplace, the Ichihara Bookstore is an old and crooked structure pressed between two newer high-rise tenement buildings. The old glass windows and creaking wooden door on the shop's front give it a rustic and old-world feel. Catering to both antique books and newer prints, the narrow aisles and tall shelves are packed full of literature. A single shelf for periodicals lies near the front counter, while signage both out front by the register and in the back of the store indicates that tarot card reading is done on-site at request for ten dollars per reading.

Behind the old and weathered wooden counter that contains the register and a small stack of reserved books, a narrow wooden staircase leads upwards to a black wooden door with peeling paint, revealing red paint in narrow strips beneath, a rope crossing in front of that door hangs with a small sign that reads, "Private".


The cloudy weather of today casts a greyish light into the bookstore. Over the last few days, more and more books have gone missing from their shelves, placed instead in stacks on - and now behind - the counter. Around half of them have little, yellow notes sticking out from between their pages, numbers scrawled hastily upon their corners. A notebook lies, flipped open, on the very end of the counter, with the newest store employee glaring down at its contents as if it had just insulted him. Every few seconds, he pushes a pen down next to one of the lines he's scribbled on the current page, peers at the stack of books, then shakes his head.

Yep, the new cashier's keeping busy. Whether he's actually doing something useful, however, is a different thing all together.

What a rotten week this turns out be for Diogenes. The first note of this symphonie de la misère was a deceptively innocent invitation to have a friendly chat. Not that he blames himself for not realising that he was walking into a painfully obvious trap, but rather that he had the sheer audacity to waltz onto the minefield. Similarly, he isn't annoyed with the fact that a man has claimed his reigns, but rather that there is a matter that needs to be dealt with. Their plans currently coincided, but there will come a time when they won't, and Diogenes needs to prepare for that day.

Ichichara Bookstore is not where such plans will take place. He hasn't come here to scheme, he has come here to momentarily put his restless thoughts and eternal concerns aside. Today is meant to be an ordinary day - have a stroll in the park, reminisce, have a gander in this seemingly antique bookstore you haven't noted before, and, whenever you have the chance, be a complete jerk. Yes, while everyone's too busy killing, plotting, crying, laughing and cheating in a lottery, Diogenes simply visits a bookstore. Simple is good.

Dressed as expensively as usual, wearing a fine black suit that is contrasted by a white shirt, Diogenes is carried by a measure stride alongside the shelves. A hand is raised, surfing across the many titles that face his side. He keeps this up until he arrives to the section riddled with books related to biology. Specifically, the human body. There, he stops, and as if a predator that unexpectedly found his prey, he cranes his neck, first, and then turns fully to face the literature that interests him. A single book is drawn, and as if was a library, he starts reading it, slowly flipping the pages, skimming the content. He doesn't seem to have noticed the cashier, and if he did, he's certainly not of the breed to care for manners, that's for sure.

That's okay, though. Zachery hasn't even lifted his head, and even a mumble of a greeting seems too much to ask of him today. He's entirely concerned with his little scribbles, especially after such a blatantly eventless week. Hell, eventless month. The notion of his brain having shut off after such a long time of being consistently useless has not escaped him. It's only until after the customer has been in for at least a full minute that Zachery suddenly wonders aloud, "Why the soul?"

Whether he knows there's someone in there with him is unclear. Or, perhaps, irrelevant. His eyes stay on the bit of paper in front of him, and the pen is gripped tightly as his jaw clenches.

Upon hearing the man speak up, Diogenes furrows his brows and shuts the book closed abruptly before returning it to its rightful home. "What about the soul?", he replies aloud with but another question, turning away from the books that interest him and making his way towards where he has heard Zachery speak. Once the cashier enters his view, the well-dressed and ill-mannered young man slowly approaches the desk that he deems to be rather cluttered. He breathes in deeply to heave a worn sigh.

"You are in charge?" This last question is notable more condescending, and his facial expression matches the tone well.

With a silent -tack-, the pen is pushed back down onto the notebook, and Zachery finally lifts his head when he hears the customer approach. Right— asking questions out loud instead of in your head sometimes makes people care. He tends to forget about that. Curiosity leads him to wait until the customer is in sight, and a forced, wry smile disappears as fast as it is conjured.

"No." The cashier replies curtly, either thinking very little of the condescending tone or failing to notice it at all. He then straightens up, points down at the notebook and immediately follows his answer up with, "The human body was proven to lose twenty-one grams of its weight. This was published in the year 1907. Why, out of all the things they must have known they couldn't know by then, did they just decide it had to be the soul?" Beyond maybe a spot of concern, his expression is hard to read. The conviction in his voice is hard to miss, though. Though obviously not to this particular little 'fact'.

With a silent -tack-, the pen is pushed back down onto the notebook, and Zachery finally lifts his head when he hears the customer approach. Right— asking questions out loud instead of in your head sometimes makes people care. He tends to forget about that. Curiosity leads him to wait until the customer is in sight, and a forced, wry smile disappears as fast as it is conjured.

"No." The cashier replies curtly, either thinking very little of the condescending tone or failing to notice it at all. He then straightens up, points down at the notebook and immediately follows his answer up with, "The human body was proven to lose twenty-one grams of its weight. This was published in the year 1907. Why, out of all the things they must have known they couldn't know by then, did they just decide it had to be the soul?" Beyond maybe a spot of concern, his expression is hard to read. The conviction in his voice is hard to miss, though. Though obviously not to this particular little 'fact'.

"The number varies", the man duly replies the moment Zachery falls silent. His colourless eyes survey the cashier, seemingly appraising him. "Various articles state various numbers. Inconsistency is the first sign of fault." He pauses, averting his gaze. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes to recall what he has read up quite some time ago. "Seven. Nine. Twenty one. All the numbers are different, and in the past, the precise time of death was impossible to determine", he elaborates, his eyes rapidly flicking open, his gaze returning to regard Zachery. "Even with today's tools, this dubious research is difficult to carry out."

The consensus is voiced in the man's true style. "Duncan MacDougal was an idiot. The soul does not exist."

"Not relevant." Though not quite as quick to answer, Zachery seems equally convinced of his own statements. The notebook falls back onto the surface of the counter, and flipped upside-down. A puzzled look makes its way onto the cashier's face, and he rolls back his shoulders. "I mean, not that I'm saying it's plausible people have souls, but— that theory can go sit in the idiot corner until we've proven it wrong." Almost as though avoiding a counterargument to this particular sentence, he immediately asks, "Are you looking for something?"

For a moment, it seems as though Zachery will fall under the 'Idiot' classification quite like the aformentioned Sir Duncan, but just as Diogenes parts his lips and breathes in deeply to ready himself to insult the man before him, Zachery notes that the thesis the two discuss is moronic until proven otherwise. Such a statement causes a miniature grin to appear on the darkly clad man's lips, and he nods silently a couple of times with notable vigour. "And here I thought you were a raging moron. For once, I'm glad to be disappointed."

Sudden energy appears in his motion as he points behind with his thumb whilst casting a short-lived glance that follows in the direction where he's pointing. "You wouldn't happen to have something along the lines of 'Ten Ways to Kill Your Archnemesis', would you?", he quips, looking back to Zachery and dropping his hand back to his side. It's not long before both hands spring up to be thrown into the air as a gesture signaling despair. "If you don't, I'll settle for an extensive biology book."

Archnemesis, eh? While, especially in these times, Zachery should probably know better than to assume this is a joke, he cracks a grin of his own. After a brief, nearly unnoticable twitch at the arms flying up, he promptly moves from his spot at the counter to duck behind one of the stacks of books. "I haven't been working here that long, and I've been having a bit of trouble deciphering their inventory list." His right index and middle finger are dragged over the books' spines as he reads their titles, then moves to another stack to repeat the process. "People seem to mistake me for things I'm not more often, lately. Suppose working in retail doesn't exactly help."

With dry thuds, several books are pulled out from between the stacks. Some new, most… not so much. All of them with little yellow notes sticking out of them. They're dropped unceremoniously onto the counter in front of Diogenes. The cashier looks suddenly displeased, shoulders sagging as he glares down at the books with an (it seems) unreasonable amount of disappointment. "These are incorrect." Yeah. Helpful.

The bookstore's visitor isn't keen on following Zachery around; his grey eyes do most of the following, accompanied by an appropriately grimly serious demeanour, matched by the overly judgmental (or simply mental) facial expression. If you figured your grandparent seems nightmarish when he looks down upon you, then Diogenes offers surprising competition. All he needs is an axe and he could easily fit into the poster for a would-be sequel to American Psycho.

"What are you, then?", he inquires softly, injecting curiosity in his tone. There's certain rigidness in his question, in his voice and even in his motions, at times.

"Whoever or whatever you are", he decides to add, "I hope you can at least provide me with a book that'll give me greater insight into how the human body moves. What propels it forward… What compels a foot to step forward in a manner that doesn't allow us to topple over? The spine. I want to know more about it." Not exactly a curt addition. It was ironic, really - a man so interested in movement moved about similarly to a broken puppet himself. Ironic and eerie.

The bookstore's visitor isn't keen on following Zachery around; his grey eyes do most of the following, accompanied by an appropriately grimly serious demeanour, matched by the overly judgmental (or simply mental) facial expression. If you figured your grandparent seems nightmarish when he looks down upon you, then Diogenes offers surprising competition. All he needs is an axe and he could easily fit into the poster for a would-be sequel to American Psycho.

"What are you, then?", he inquires softly, injecting curiosity in his tone. There's certain rigidness in his question, in his voice and even in his motions, at times.

"Whoever or whatever you are", he decides to add, "I hope you can at least provide me with a book that'll give me greater insight into how the human body moves. What propels it forward… What compels a foot to step forward in a manner that doesn't allow us to topple over? The spine. I want to know more about it." Not exactly a curt addition. It was ironic, really - a man so interested in movement moved about similarly to a broken puppet himself. Ironic and eerie.

"The spine."

It's as if the word is ambiguous enough for it to be clarified and repeated time and time again by both parties. Diogenes swallows hard, clearing his throat, as he watches Zachery select books he deems worthy. The other man's eyes rise up to once again regard the cashier, instead of the books offered. And there it comes again. A quick look washes over his face before a grin would wipe it off. A look of a predator who has his prey in his claws. The look of an inquisitor when he hears the first scream. The look of a devil when a soul submits. The look of a killer.

A simple grin erases it. "I'll take this one", he decides, tapping on one of the books with his index finger. The book is not notable. What is notable, however, is the rapid yet gradual disappearance of sensation and control from Zachery's hands. First the fingers, then hands, then forearms. What once were prehensile tools of interaction with the world become lumps of flesh. Diogenes doesn't reveal it's his doing. He simply has reshaped that grin into a polite smile and awaits the usual procedures to take place when one buys an item.

"Excellent!" Finally, there's a bit more emotion to Zachery's voice. Being useful's something he's missed, and the splendid subject of the books he's been sorting through only seems like a bonus! He actually sounds kind of happy to be doing what he was assigned to, for once. Looking down at the chosen book, he reaches to gently pull it out from the pile. An action that takes a no conscious thought, a movement that requires no planning or consideration. Yet…

THUNK.

Pages spill open with a papery rustle as the book hits the floor, Zachery's face blank. This doesn't make sense. For a moment, it looks like he's going to reach down for the dropped item, but then he halts his movement halfway through. His eyes trail up slowly to Diogenes face, while his arms drop silently to by his sides. This time his mouth stays shut, jaw tense. The look on his face, for lack of a better word, just appears to say "Not again."

The look on the customer's face, however, displays feigned innocence. The 'feigned' part of it is made intentionally clear, as if to mock the victim of his ability. "Something wrong?", he asks in a tone that matches his facial expression. A glance is cast to the immobile, currently useless hands, before he buries his gaze into Zachery's own eyes. "A bit clumsy, aren't you?" His voice grows less amused, and the playfully mocking expression thins rather quickly.

There's a very brief pause before Diogenes speaks up again. "I still do not understand how my ability works", he comments, putting his inhuman feat to use once more, this time aiming to return the feeling of his victim's hands, yet he takes away his legs from toes to hips. He would circle Zachery like a vulture, eyeing him, observing him. "How does it work? How can I isolate the signals nerves transmit to the brain through the spine? With what do I block them? Is it a matter of intercranial pressure? Temporary and reversible damage to the spine? I would have to actually cut someone up to understand this."

If Zachery is on the ground, Diogenes would lower himself down to a squatting position before raising yet another question: "I seek a volunteer. Would you like to be one?"

As the feeling floods back into Zachery's arms, his hands flex, albeit shakily, in and out of fists. Just testing. The returned feeling is used immediately to search for support behind him, as his legs slowly appear to buckle under his own weight. More books come tumbling down around him as he fails to steady himself and, eventually, sinks down onto the floor.

Whereas a moment ago the larger part of his expression was exasperation, fear is definitely showing alongside it now. Once Zachery is down, leaning his back against the shelves of books near the counter, he lifts his gaze back to the store's not-customer. "I-I…" He stammers, before clenching his jaw once more and - after some sharp intakes of air - pulling a more controlled breath into his lungs. His voice remains nervous, no doubt there, but at least clear. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that's a rhetorical question."

Still in a crouching position, Diogenes slowly shakes his head, bringing his lower lip up and forming quite the frown; to a comical degree, really, even if Zachery might not be in the position to appreciate it. Whether he can or cannot, however, seems to be irrelevant to the Evolved. He revels in the discomfort of the cashier, although that hardly shows.

"Oh, no", he speaks up, words suddenly bursting out. "Who do you think I am? A senseless killer?" After the question, Diogenes stands up to his full height, looking down at Zachery. In particularly, his back, should it be visible. No doubt already dissecting the man alive, albeit with his gaze. "It's a simple yes or no. I need to state, however, that you would be donating your body to science. A noble cause, don't you think? I lack surgical instruments, however…" He quite easily trails off to another topic. "I'd hate to cut you or anyone else up with a kitchen knife. I don't think surgical instruments are exactly for sale in apothecaries, hm? Wal-Mart, perhaps…"

"W-well," Zachery starts again, brow creasing as he squirms to lean away as far as he can without losing support from his arms— white-knuckled hands now firmly pressed against the floor, "either you are a senseless killer, or you d-don't mind me committing your face to memory." Seeing as his eyes have been fixed on the younger man's face for some time, now.

Then, something happens in the cashier's mind. Because of something done, something said, something… suggested. After an an involuntary eyetwitch, Zachery states robotically, "I've got the tools you need. Probably more." After a hard swallow, he adds, "… So which is it?"

A soft chuckle escapes the would-be 'senseless killer'. He wanders over the desk, looking over what few books remain on the desk, if any. He picks up one of the books on the floor, flipping through a few pages absent-mindedly. "I do not mind you committing me to memory. I'm already a sensation amongst would-be heroes and self-righteous vigilantes."

"I'm like that YouTube video of Hasselhoff eating a kebab whilst drunk. This is what happens when you kill a few rapists and thieves that happen to be homeless. Everyone gets their panties up in a bunch." The book is thrown off to the side carelessly, although it lands neatly on the desk. "Tools. Why would you have all the tools? Interesting. Depending on what you have to say next, I'll grant you control back."

The look on Zachery's face, he figures, must be the look people have on their faces when they're dealing, barehanded, with dogs trained and taught to kill. Fine tuning your actions and reations in order to appeal to something — or someone, in this case, against your better judgement. On the upside, at least he's had practice with this. Thanks, Sylar. If they made greeting cards specific enough, Zachery would regret not having an address to send one to.

Meanwhile, back in reality, "I've practiced— " His words are spat out hastily, sentence structure be damned, "Medicine. PhD— surgeon for several years." His eyes seem to properly focus for the first time in minutes, tension in his arms and shoulders fading ever so slightly. If he wasn't fearing and hoping so badly not to lose control over the entirety of his body, he'd be looking disappointed. "I basically ran the place over at Harlem Morgue up until a few months ago." And now, it is his turn to give the other a questioning look.

"What a cute coincidence", remarks the gentlemanly killer with a sneer misshaping his lips.

Once again, he lowers himself to be closer to the same level of elevation, or lack thereof. Canting his head to the side, he curiously eyes Zachery. Or is it more than curiosity? The penetrative gaze the stranger shoots certainly seems to hold more than just curiosity. His gaze were like claws, ripping people aside just to know what's inside. Or perhaps it's just the irrational feeling some might get when their life is at the hands of another. Either way…

"Why did you leave?", he asks, reaching out to pick up another book. Then another. He seems to be picking up all of them in an orderly fashion before bringing him back to the desk. He is actually tidying up.

Again, Zachery's expression changes. He never was one to know what to do with his emotions, and they seem to be running rampant again. For now, the ground-bound man settles on frustration. Though strangely enough not frustration aimed at Diogenes.

"Overachiever." A calmly pronounced word. Something that was assigned to his behavior, rather than a term adopted by himself. "I wasn't very good at the social aspects of the job, and too good at the rest. There was a…" he stops there, taking the little time he gets between being stared at to looks to his sides. Maybe if there was something useful, something sharp, within arm's reach. "… a series of misunderstandings. And I was let go."

Whilst at the side of the desk, Diogenes decides to carry his glance over the covers of several books once again. Ultimately, his gaze fixates on one. And then, all it takes is a casual sideways glance towards the man barely holding himself up on the ground, and Zachery will have regained all his locomotive abilities and the capacity to feel touch where both were robbed. "Not good at social aspects? You surprise me!", exclaims the man in awkward fashion, and a snort follows. "You're very good at talking about just the right things with someone who can kill you on whim. Or perhaps killers is the only social caste you're comfortable with, Doctor."

He awaits Zachery to rise, and provided nothing unexpected happens, Diogenes will pick up the book he has chosen and offer it to the cashier. "I'll take this one", he announces in a casual tone, contrasted by a mischievous grin. Whether or not the item is accepted or rejected, the cryptical stranger continues his original trace of thought: "Did those series of misunderstandings stem from your lack of rapport with Hippocrates?"

'Doctor'. He hasn't heard it in so long. Several months, in fact, of 'Mr. Miller' this and 'Mr. Miller' that. Several months of fixed smiles. Who was he to correct them? Everyhthing is always clearer in hindsight. Still, he didn't expect to miss the word so much. It's almost enough to make him forget he's sharing the room with his potential killer. After a quick pat or two, the ex-coroner rises to his feet again. Awkwardly, visibly suspicious. This isn't over yet.

"Keep it." He mutters, with a quick downward glance toward the offered book. He'll get back to handling books when he knows they won't randomly slip from his fingers again. "And yes. My superior's i-interpretation of it, anyway. Superfluous standards." Though, he'll admit, maybe showing up for work drunk was not the best idea he ever had.

"If I don't pay for this book, this will be another job you'll be forced to leave." The book is once again suggestively nudged in Zachery's direction, although the gesture is nothing more. A mere invitation to take the book, charge the visitor and possibly throw it into a neat plastic bag with the shop's logo or name on it. Should Zachery fail to accept it a second time, the book will land on the desk, and Diogenes will not look pleased, at all.

Yet that matter would have to wait its turn, should that be the case. "Your oath to the man is not exactly up for interpretation", he notes, tackling the other issue, "You either obey it, or you don't. It's a subjective and archaic tool create the illusion of order, but it's still a rule you must obey. Complete freedom insinuates chaos, and chaos insinuates the inability to predict, and that gives birth to uncertainty, which we are known to fear greatly."

For a moment, utter silence embraces the two. It's not long before the voice of the stranger rises up once more, however. "Do you miss your job? And before you answer, yes, that question will lead up to another one, a certain one that will prompt an either yes or no again."

Zachery is reminded of his earlier comment. Irrelevant. His ideas of the oath he was meant to live by may go unspoken, but it should clear by his expression that he is not completely in agreement with… what turned out to be a customer after all.

After a long, shaky sigh of an exhale, the book is accepted. Carefully and slowly. Not because Zachery so desperately wants to keep this job, but to cooperate seems better than the alternative. The old register gives a cheerful ding as it attempts to open, while the price is mumbled through gritted teeth.

"Look at me." Zachery does look a little out of place, to be fair, fidgeting uncertainly with the outdated technology in front of him. "Wouldn't you?"

For the first time, Diogenes smiles. It borders on a malevolently amused smirk, but it's a wholehearted and genuine smile; as good as the manis at putting up a facade, his false emotions become apparent once another sees what a true display of emotion looks like on this stranger's visage. "I'm unemployed. I've never had a job in my life. I have an ability, and I've started playing God. I look down on everyone and blame them for playing pitifully insignificant games, and claim that I am above it all, yet here I am, tickling my primeval needs by toying with a complete stranger."

His true emotion slowly fades, and he appears as stoic as when he entered the store again. He lifts his chin and sighs softly. "I do not believe in wrong. I do not believe in right. I simply believe in cause and effect. Right and wrong are labels a desperate man has come up with in order to make sense of existence", he elaborates. But why is he letting Zachery know all this?

It goes unexplained. Instead, Diogenes reaches for his wallet and, whilst counting the requisite amount of sum displayed on the outdated register, he mutters: "I am not rich, even if I may look it. I can't offer you a job, but I can offer you to indulge in what you have spent your entire life reaching for." The needed amount of money - just the right amount - is handed to Zachery. Those eyes drill into the very depths of the cashier's soul… assuming such things exists, of course. "My standards differ."

The genuine emotions showing so briefly on Diogenes face are rewarded with an equally true response from Zachery, who squints in a vague attempt to figure out what display of emotions to believe, and which to disregard. Perhaps all of them. Just to be safe.

Money is accepted, and the book handed back. No plastic bag. Too distracted. He seems largely undeterred by the look, if only because intrigue has taken over. "Pray tell. What am I looking for?" … And maybe a little, teensy bit of sarcasm.

"You seem to have mistaken me for your employer."

Hubbawha? It seems as a fairly random remark, but then Diogenes nods in the direction of the sign that states that paid-for tarot card reading are offered. The place isn't nearly as luxurious enough to elicit several employees that specialise in various matters. An owner, a cashier and possibly someone to physically look after the place and clean it, unless the last two is one person. It wouldn't be too far-fetched.

"Only you know what you're looking for. I am not a fortune teller. Neither am I a salesman", he clarifies before continuing: "My ability, coupled with medicaments that will keep a subject conscious, will provide you with all the means to research the human body on a living specimen. You will be able to watch Death itself at work, watch how She works. Maybe you'll even figure out whether the soul is just a myth. I won't lie to you and say you'll reshape medicine. It's highly likely you won't."

The book is finally accepted, and the man offers a shrug in return. "But you are a doctor, Doctor. You have the urge to know, don't you? That hunger for knowledge… or hunger to dig in someone's organs. One or the other. As for me… Well, I gain a powerful interrogation tool, for one. Secondarily, I get insight into my own ability. I lack expertise that would match yours."

You know that saying? Something about a kid in a candy store? Well, imagine the kid's been living in the middle of that candy store for most of its life up until that point… in a plastic bubble, strapped to a bed. So close, yet so far. Or— has that just been disproven? It can't have been.

Maybe he should know better than to let the anticipation show on his face, but Zachery just can't help it. He's not smiling, but he looks like he's damn close to it. "I…" He clears his throat, blinks, then rolls back his shoulders and faces Diogenes with a more detemined look. "I will keep working here, as well." He states, though he pauses only a beat to add, "As backup. I don't have enough insight as to your situation to make a committiment." It's as though he's said the words before. Almost rehearsed. "Speaking of which." He sticks out his hand, not quite as shake-free as he'd have liked, "Dr. Zachery Miller."

The twinkle of excitement in Zachery's eyes is duly discovered by the tall gaunt man. It isn't reflected by any sort of emotion, much less a predatory 'Hah, gotcha' look. There is appraisal. Examination of Zachery's thoughts that slip and appear on his face, his tone, his mannerisms. Diogenes does not believe in right or wrong, and Zachery's fascination with such morbid activities that are on the slightly darker shade of morally grey is nary more than a simple, neutral fact. To Diogenes, this observed fact is no more unusual than the fact that water freezes at zero.

"You will keep working here as back-up", he affirms, adding, "And if at one point you lose this job or leave it, you'll find another. You're just an ordinary man, stuck in a loop of Despair and Uncertainty. A skilled doctor wasting his life behind a counter in a bookstore. Your unintended exposure will not fall upon me, but you."

A single glance is thrown to the offered handshake, but Diogenes does not accept it. Instead, he looks up at Doctor Zachery Miller, and offers a curt introduction: "Diogenes. I'll come when I have the first subject ready."

And with that, he turns to leave. Perhaps this wasn't such a simple day, after all. Perhaps Diogenes robbed himself of the ability to have a mundane life, and isn't even aware of it.


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