He squinted at my light and brandished the hammer. “Shit,” he said again. “Get that out of my eyes, dammit.”
“Sorry,” I squeaked, and lowered the beam, casting it around.
It seemed like 80 percent of the panels were ruined. Why had I said sorry? Force of habit. “Shit.” If he could say it, I could too.
“Shit. What the hell are you doing, man?”
“You’re recording this, kid?”
“Yes. Livestreaming.”
15/
Cory Doctorow /
npub1yx…75qvv
2023-10-06 11:45:03
in reply to nevent1q…0xae
Author Public Key
npub1yxzkmtuyctjw2pffp6e9uvyrkp29hrqra2tm3xp3z9707z06muxsg75qvvSeen on
wss://relay.noswhere.comPublished at
2023-10-06 11:45:03Event JSON
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