It's 6:30 am. The sun is nowhere to be seen. Now, I make it a point to avoid this part of the day, preferring the more reasonable hours of eight and nine, but I don't have much choice. Today I'm getting an MRI for my busted right wrist. If any of you have any knowledge of me being an immortal who has seen his way through multiple historically relevant wars and who has a chance for a bit of shrapnel here or there, or if your family helped fund a Canadian super-soldier program during which my bones were coated by metal: now's your chance to let me know.
No one? Okay.
I should've taken a different appointment time.
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