My niche in life is oddly shaped. It's a cave. What are the chances? I am lying in the place I work, rest in the dark. It is 4AM, Hedwig is playing, I'm writing into my diary. What are the chances? Software I write, email, netdiary, I create my tools. Unpacking the kawaii nekochan pieces of tangled perl as the rain beats down outside. What are the chances? That another person is in the next warehouse tomb, like me thinking of the sunrise as they sing?

An acceptable companion will never arise under a thousand suns, but then again, neither did I.