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Anna proceeded to open the book. She skipped the tedious introduction, which lavished praise on Jennings as being "one of the great metaphysical thinkers of our time, alongside such great minds as de Selby and Pangloss". The first of Jennings' actual writings appeared on page 57:
"The Angst"
Woe is me, I am like
A rotting buffalo carcass,
Vultures devour my internal organs,
One vomits my partially-digested pancreas as nourishment for her young.
Angst angst angst angst angst!
I am forever consigned to the overflowing septic tank of my life,
No plumber dares to plunge my toilets, fearing
the excrement of years gone past
it smells really bad down here.
Anna quickly slammed the book shut in revulsion. She realized that she had been biting her arm in an effort to escape the pain of the awful poetry. She unclenched her teeth, noting the bite arks on her wrist. If the poetry was that bad to read silently, she shuddered at the thought of it being read aloud. No wonder this book was locked up down here; those words were never meant to see the light of day. She threw the book down on the floor, wanting to distance herself from it as much as possible. When it hit the floor, a small envelope slid out across the floor. Always curious, Anna picked it up and opened it. Inside was...
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