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    The paper they hand you at the very end is merely an eggshell white photocopy but has your perfect signature at the bottom, affirming consent to everything that could have possibly been done to you in the past 48 hours.

    “How could this have happ – wait, what’s this?” You’ve noticed the indicia in small print bleeding through from the other side in the sunlight – somethingsomething Dakoda Corp., etc. etc.

    You walk a little further out so you can get a look at the sign to the motel if they have one. Lost Dakoda – No Vacancy.

    “Oh! I think I get it now! They hypnotized me! Yeah, they’re hypnotists! I’ve seen these kinds of TV-magicians on YouTube! They must have been doing something to me from the beginning, planted a vision in my brain, got me to sign away my freedom for the time being. They’re experts in that…whattayacallit…neurological programming? NLP I think was the acronym anyway.”

    The End.




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