and here’s the real Duckter Zhivago:
he’s wandering around outside my window as i write this.
this is his 6th winter since he first wandered up to me with something on his mind.
every so often, when he takes a step – when the snow’s deep like it is this winter – he sort of slowly tips over.
i’ve tried not to laugh, but it just never gets old.
he totally knows i’m in here.
he also knows that i know he’s out there.
it kind of bothers me that he thinks i’m a pussy for just staying in the house drawing pictures.
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