In which the diarist yet again invokes a Higher Power.
Dear spooky invisible voyueristic pervert angelghostalienmonsterrightbrainhigherselfwhatevers,
Tomorrow is market day. Make me sell things pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease? I want some money to happen. And make it be a nice day, not too hot but without loads of wind or rain.
Or I'll go evil. Really evil. With all tentacles and stuff.