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 You ask for a table.


The waiter seems derisive, but he takes you to one, anyway.


You sit down. Your stomach rumbles.


You order a full plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes.


The waiter dashes away.


You look across the booth.


It's you.


Kind of.


What seems to be a clone of you stares back.


Its eyes are red, like it's been crying.


"Hello," it says.


"I'm going crazy," you say.


"Probably," it says. "But I have answers."


You cross your arms. "Do I care?"


"The waiter just called the police."


"Figures."


"Either you hear me out, or not. Doesn't matter."


32: Hear your clone out

33: Don't




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