I am some rare mutant superhuman not even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, too rare to die. And my wife is a hottie-boom-bottie! <-- note to self: sign out when away from the desk.
There is an idea of a Don Shappelle; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there.
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