I keep a spreadsheet.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically. I keep a spreadsheet. It is hosted on a local server in a renovated bank vault on Spruce Street that was my office when Aegis Therapeutics was a real company and my cubicle when it was a memory and now it is something else again: the command center of a five-block territory that I call The Consulate, though nobody calls it that to my face. They call it...
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