Thursday June 19, 6:45 pm
It’s been three days and still no sign of progression. We can only hope that salvation is coming. We have survived mainly on goldfish, red vines, crunch bars, and soda so far. But our resources are dwindling. The one they call Dillian has abandoned us, he hopped on the nearest bike and ran. The Lewis is coming along slowly, but has yet to catch up
on the verse. Andrew, the 5-stringed, sings pleasantly in a voice you would not expect from looking at him. Kevin is boyish, but plays well. If help does not come soon, I fear that they will cannibalize, or worse, homogenize. There are rumors abroad that I fear to speak. This memoir may be intercepted. But they must be recorded. The mothers of
Andrew and Kevin are actually one and the same, with a distant relation to my own Uncle Kevin. And it is said that Dillan is having Louis baby. Doo Wop...Bop shi bop doo wop...Dillan has returned to us. It is for the worse. Kimee is curled in a ball against the wall; she may have gone insane from all the failed attempts at good music. I fear I am the
only sane one left in the group...and my sanity is dwindling at that; I don’t think banging my head against the cupboard is helping me any. D D7 A A...it’s all become a jumble of confusion to me. Alas, the Andrew has chosen to leave as well. It seems this fear factor of music is too much for him. Word is spreading that a mutiny is expected. Monday perhaps? It’s unknown as of yet. It seems this entire practice has been in vain.
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