Here it comes...
Eight hours in. Seven ay-em. Odds one to two-hundred fifty six against.
[Editor's Note: records of the intervening hours are being decrypted with great difficulty due to being nearly illegibleAlmost completely consumed in a small-scale booze fire at my apartment.. I apologize for the inconvenience.]
I think I may genuinely be on a streak now, but the moment of truth is coming right up... Let's see if I get the lucky number...
[...]This space reserved for the sound of a gun firing.
Damn, I lost.
Well, actually, I am alive. That's nice.
Odds book... Appears my being alive at this point is less likely than... killing myself with a firearm, eh? Let's not rule that one out just yet.
The paper says The Man Who Cheated Himself should be coming on now. I suppose I'll see the guy, one way or another.