“I looked at Google Maps,” the police officer said. “There are 23 ways for you to get from your apartment to your workplace. I suggest you learn to use them all in a random rotation.”
“How will that protect me from that madman?” I asked. “He still knows where my apartment is. And I’ve moved twice and changed my phone number 6 times!” I don’t know why I bother with the police, they can’t do anything to help me. They are useless. Maybe after the fact, after I’m dead, they can make my parents feel better by arresting . . .
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