The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
February 27, 2005

Gate

Constance is currently on crutches. She tripped over the ottoman in the Oak room and hit the floor like a rock. "I am only clumsy when I am awake," she tells me at the hospital. At least she still has her sense of humor. The nurses chased me away and while I was trying to leave I soon found myself lost. I ended up in the equipment graveyard. I thought I was on the set of a Roger Corman picture. There was a soda machine in the next room so I purchased a diet ginger ale, and took the opportunity to digress. Several things came to me as I took my own blood pressure. How come they don't make it easier to travel by train? Why don't they make boxed aspirin anymore? And my final note, Diary; is there anything more mystifying than foreign animation? Until we meet again.