I got the look again today. A girl two floors down who saw me when I went for the mail. That look. Eyebrow raised. Never mind them. They can’t appreciate beauty, or the time and effort I devoted to following my muse.
It’s here. The last specimen of Smallpox. They nearly killed it all, but I have it. A quick pop into the needle, a little prick, and into my collection it goes, where it’ll be safe. Forever.
Twenty-seven. That brings it to twenty-seven. I’m past contagion plus. I’m jacked up contagion cool.
Skin itches like a bitch, though.