Waiting for jasonmayoff.com to propogate through the internets so that it points here.
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… still waiting, internets. Where are you?
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I’ll check again later.
Waiting for jasonmayoff.com to propogate through the internets so that it points here.
.
…
… still waiting, internets. Where are you?
.
.
I’ll check again later.
I needed to write some fiction the other day. It’s bad, it’s heavily unedited and it’s unfinished. You don’t want to read any further. This is your last warning.

By Jason Mayoff
He dragged the last body into room 14c, the room closest to the front desk. Over the last 13 days, since he’d recovered from the blackout, he’d been pulling bodies from all over the neighbourhood into the abandoned motel. He’d known it was freshly emptied for renovations because he drove by it every day on the way to work.
Make that, he used to drive by it every day on the way to work. There was no work anymore. There wasn’t much of anything. There was existence and scavenging. There was finding shelter, but there wasn’t much of anything else that made a life, a life.