There's too much to tell now. Don't you know that? I don't even know where to begin, and I'm not sure I even should, to see this whole week, written out, the black and white words mocking me. I should have started days ago, and written slowly and steadily, and somewhere, somehow, a story would have emerged.
But it's too late now. Now all I have are fragments, and pieces, and you can make of them what you will.