The Imperfect's Journal: 1

May 13th, 2066

Not my proudest moment, but I ate some powdered donuts in the gas station bathroom for breakfast. I stuck the trash in the toilet's tank (seems I'm not the only person who's thought of that, based on the other garbage that was floating in there).

I feel so guilty about it. It's not the gas station owner's fault the Perfect America Bill was passed. Or maybe it is. I mean, the owner isn't an imperfect. She's one of those few people who is privileged to continue living her life unencumbered. Hell, maybe she'll be able to buy an imperfect slave from the government to do her work for her. If I had given her money for the food, I would have been inadvertently funding that... right?

There's actually no telling what her stance on the Perfect America Bill actually is. Speaking out against it is grounds for being deemed imperfect, so naysayers have to keep their opinions to themselves. The individuals who wrote the bill did a good job ensuring it would remain law once it had passed.

I still feel guilty for stealing, but I truly didn't have a choice. So long as the only crime I commit is theft out of necessity, I think I can live with myself.

Anyway, I did the same thing for dinner, though I ate pretzels instead of donuts. Then, I filled up on gas, again. I'm out of money, now, which means I need to find some way to scrounge up some more cash, next.

I made it to Minnesota, today. Being here has dragged forth some memories I really don't want to remember. It's a shame that this disease seems deadset on forcing me to forget the good things while doing everything possible to remember the bad things. I wish it were the other way around.

Maybe I'm not forgetting the good things. Maybe there just aren't very many of them.