Gudetama slips listlessly from the egg carton on the kitchen table, landing with a soft wet slap. It signs, its little oval eyes searching curiously, when it spots you in the next room through a door. You seem out of it, staring off into space ignoring the TV. It moans out quietly, a slight hint of irritability to its miserable voice. Why am I even here? The voice from the kitchen pulls you from your stupor upon the couch. The voice of someone who sounds even more depressed than yourself.
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