Here.

My deepest apologies, nonexistent viewers, for my lack of updates yesterday. Time makes fools of us all. Also, reviewing my last blog post, I realized I may have assaulted you with a bit too much information at once. I do not wish to bore you, nonexistent viewer, with the explicit details of my rather boring past. The purpose of this blog is to tell you about my exciting present life, after all.

So I shall tell you first about yesterday.

Timon came to the door with a girl, rather sweet looking. Nice, fair skin. Some dots of freckles about her face. Average, though, not like the normal ones Timon usually brings home to consort with. For a moment I had thought the poor boy had fallen in love.

She called herself Lucy. So did Timon, so I believe I can trust to call her that for now. Timon met her in a bar down on Fifth, probably hoping to dip his wick in a poor prole girl for variety. Not that I have anything against proles, you must understand. "The workers control the means of production" and all that, eh? Never really read Marx. Don't honestly plan to.

I am getting off track. Yes, so Timon smiled that same poor foolish grin he always gets and asks me to come with him and his lady to this new club. On Fifth. Called the Fitz.

I normally don't mingle near Fifth Street. Not in some snotty upper-class aristocrat sort of way, just... different circles. Besides, the women there are harder to get in bed than a glued-up ball of squealing howler monkeys stuck to the other side of your face.

I refused. Timon's ladyfriend seemed a bit dismayed. But then Timon called in one of his little... favours. God damn reporters. Always much too nosy.

So I went with him. And, surprisingly, I had a smashing good time.

I'm thinking of going again. Alone this time. I'm always best when I work alone.

Besides that, nothing today had any special occurrence besides almost hitting some jaywalking businessman with my bike on the way to visit my step-sister.

~Your First Consul