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I spent all of Tuesday running errands and getting the site ready for somewhat of a week-long leave of absence as tupac makaveli I prepared to run wild tupac makaveli in NYC. But somehow, up to 3pm, things hadn't really been going my way. You know, one of those tupac makaveli days where you run into problem after problem, fixing things that should've worked in the first place, and coming out wondering if any forward progress was even achieved. But the haircut would be my magical turnaround. I had the appointment, and something would get done (good haircuts tend to inspire confidence in other activities as well). I went downstairs to the parking garage to leave, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature puncture and one flat back right tire. With a futile breath and so little hot air, I knew in a moment it was time for the spare. More rapid than mechanics, my trunk tools they came, and I jacked, and I screwed, and I screamed things profane: "Fuck you mother fucker! You cunt-licking spare!
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