"Where you going this early? Breakfast at Vanier?" Jacob"s voice comes from the kitchen Thursday morning. "Nah, I can make use of the now-functioning fridge," I reply. "There"s some non-moldy cream cheese in there." I pack my guitar in its case and give myself a quick once-over in the bedroom mirror on the badly painted dresser that came with the apartment. My shirt is not only clean but ironed, and my hair"s doing more or less what I want. I"ll take it as a win. "Yeah, but there"s nothing to put it on. Except an overripe banana." Jacob peers inside as I pass him, guitar in tow. "Figured you"d be into that," I say as I head for the front door. "Overripe is a problem,&q

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