The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
June 5, 2005


Diary, you have a weary master today. To get me in and out of Culver City today was a miracle. Luckily, they have a sizable Robek's across from the studio to drown my sorrows. There hasn't been an interesting cloud over the basin in what seems like months. Manolo keeps a small swatch of wheatgrass growing on the dash of the rover as an all-natural air freshener. I think of it as the tiniest plot of land in Nebraska. I mention it because as I waited in line at the lot gate, I reached over to pull out some grass as my juice needed something extra. I caught a french cuff on the turning indicator and in my frustration broke the damned thing off. I had to limp back to the busom of the Bu with my indicator stuck flashing left. I try to avoid left hand turns anyway but didn't wan't to hear any horns, so I took a deeply ciruitious route home. Bury them at sea, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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