2025. New York. Watched The Game Awards, saw Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 won everything; should have been under wool blankets in bed, but I had too much nervous energy. The city is impressive this time of year, sparkles on the snow keep me awake. (Mem. Replace blinds with thick curtains.) They give me strange dreams, something about a bloodsucking anime girl in a Bandai Namco game…
I'd write this sort of note to myself if I were reporting as Jonathan Harker, Bram Stoker's confident Victorian solicitor – but, you know, I might as well be. Me and Jonathan have both been recently afflicted with Dracula, and I am now certain 2025 is the year of the vampire.
