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  1. Two nights ago I had a dream I was in 19th century Paris and Baudelaire was my professor. Often I would meet up with him at his apartment by the park and walk with him to class. (This was the older very depressing Baudelaire, wracked by syphilis and fearing for his sanity.) Later, for some reason I don’t remember, he got fired from his position, and when I told him I planned on resigning from school, he said it was a bad idea and not worth throwing my career away for. There was some other stuff about trying to bring corpses back to life, but I don’t really remember it. The End.

    Happy Birthday.

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