Dear diary,
The heat is unbearable here at the flat. The boiled cabbage smell thickened, polluting the elevators and stairs. Work was the usual, although on my normal stroll through the Ministy of Truth's cubicles, I looked at the Chess Committee board, which to my guess, was one name shorter. Syme was probably vaporized. Poor Syme. He was an intelligent man too. He had the potential to overthrow this so called Party.
My instructions were specific; go to Mr. Charrington's room, leave after an hour, and arrive home by a different route. Folly. We are stealthy criminals exhilarated by our nonsense. It should not be a while though we are caught and.... Oh what am I saying. According to Julia, the Thought Police does not even exist. Hopefully, she is right.
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