It is 03:30. Eighties Estonian synthpop is playing on the PA. Tomi is luxuriously sleeping on a brown velvet armchair. Baby water is still flowing. Our fish fell to the floor. I wonder if the original fish is safe? Nobody is answering the phone in our studio. All the booze has drained into The Pit. And it is repeating. We are the last people at a noise gig. The museum will be gone tomorrow, as will Antti. We worked on Sunday. We did not even go into the fish worshipping church. We will all go to Hell. But The Pit will persist.
It is 03:30. We have lost the accordion music channels. Antti has fallen asleep, half dressed, half undressed. The lost horse was rescued from the flies. And we finally got the fish. We tried to build some more things for tomorrow's fair, but nothing was finished. But we meditated by the Pit. We had a visitor today, so we had to set up the show, and we are very close to breaking the record. Pizza from the sauna was delicious. We should be back in 8 hours. Hope is vain.
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