I'm looking for a quiet cabin to make me a solemn man. Most visitors only hope to make a joy ride of the bed, but of course they bring company and don't stay long. What might happen to a man who comes alone and stays a while? Could this be the place I've been looking for? Certainly the lack of those sinister web browsers who tempt me so would help. The light creaking of the hinges as the door opens are overwhelmed by the scraping along the base.
It's clear this cabin hasn't had any serious occupants in sometime. The emaciated bookshelf is covered in dust while the bed remains disheveled, and carved slurs decorate the walls. Despite this, a book, the TeX manual, reassures me the plausibility of the task ahead me. I begin taking inventory. I notice several Scheme implementations, none reflecting the hope that gleamed from my eyes, but perhaps they would suffice. More shocking was what was missing, there seemed to be no Common Lisp implementation, nor any version of GNU Emacs, not to mention the many PDF utilities I became accustom to in recent years. Perhaps I could live like this, adapt to my environment, as my father used to instruct me.
I climbed into the dingy disgusting bed to go to sleep. It was only in this moment that I realized what had been in the room all along. It was not-libredjvu, and he had a knife. I panicked, how could he have found me all the way out here, I hadn't seen him in years and he shows up just as I leave society! My hands begin to shake. "Get yourself together!" I think, perhaps I can port libredjvu, or rather r-rewrite those parts of it I need from the standard, and escape with my life. I began to move my hand, and... *curtains close*