From a book I am writing on utter isolation:
I'm a wolf with yellow eyes, a starving wolf in the barren, grizzled Arctic. I've been combing the tundra, and every single living thing that I have physically encountered has nipped at me, tried to drive me off. No one except my mother has physically hugged me for three years. Every single human being that I have talked to has expressed a desire, real or feigned, to see me dead.
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