Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

6:09pm. I wasn't expecting to be writing another piece in the same day, but what better time than the present? A barn-burner between the Florida Panthers and New York Rangers, the third game of the NHL's Eastern Conference finals, has just gone to overtime with the score tied 4-4. And yet, the TV is not tuned into that game at the moment. One goal will decide it all, and the world will know which team scored it soon, possibly well before I am finished. After spending some time early in the morning to gather my thoughts, in the midst of which came a delectable and healing breakfast, I have spent most of the day in my room, in a manifold effort to keep myself acquainted with the latest international news and practice the monologue I intend to do for the summer showcase. My site of choice has been 68k.news, which offers "basic HTML Google News for vintage computers" by its own description. There is a strange yet beautiful irony in its slogan, "Headlines from the Future". It is the news of today, processed and presented in a way that makes it possible to view it on virtually any browser released in the last 20-25 years, by stripping away the HTML5 and JavaScript that can bring many old browsers and under-powered devices to their knees. Going from one article to another, I read them out loud in an effort to practice my intonation and pronunciation. It may serve me well to spend more time with words that trip me up, but admittedly I've been somewhat lax in that regard. For the most part, I go off of pure instinct, and those instincts oftentimes prove to be correct or close. I become an anchor in a sense, cuing myself in and out, 'theme music' included. This will prove to have been a weekend of exceptional length compared to the norm; tomorrow is Memorial Day, a time for remembrance, a time to honor the brave men and women who lost their lives while fighting to protect the United States of America. Every synapse in my brain seems to be telling me to account for the events of the moment, while they are still relatively fresh. There is no way of predicting what, if anything, will have fallen victim to the perils of a 'brain blur' upon my awakening tomorrow morning. As for today, we went to the Bowlero in Boca, leaving shortly before 1:00pm, our departure preceded by pizza and corn cobs. (I was gifted an extra one by a house-mate who doesn't seem to have an especially high affinity for corn.) It is a place we had been to several weeks before, a wonderful place to be if you're a fan of the sport. I've never considered myself a particularly good bowler; even with bumpers, I struggle to put up high scores. It seemed things were going to go well for me today, as I bowled three strikes in my first five frames, in the first of two games played. (As we were taking our turns so quickly, there was actually enough time for my group--we were divided into two groups, with four players in each--to play a second game. In fairness, the other team was extended the same olive branch, though they took slightly longer to finish their games.) After my early fortunes, which I chalked up to pure luck, it seemed I had spoken truth to power. Whatever 'mojo' I had was gone, and my success story had turned into a comedy of errors, though it felt more tragic than comical. Miraculously, I managed to win the first game despite my late struggles, but had no such luck in the second, not even picking up a spare no less pulling off a strike. I was dominated, as was the rest of the fray, by a house-mate's brilliant performance (which included three strikes and at least one spare, possibly two picked up). For me, it's fun to roll the ball down the lane, even if all the rolls result in gutter balls. It was actually more fun to cheer the others on; my eyes would shift to players in other lanes, as I became an attentive observer to multiple games in progress. The use of video projection screens was rather fascinating; for roughly the first ten to fifteen lanes there was pure whiteness, nothing to be seen. However, starting in approximately the sixteenth lane, video feeds begin to appear, and get darker as you go further down to the end. There are at least sixty lanes, possibly up to or upwards of seventy in which to compete. Depending on where you play, you'll get a different feed per lane, but no matter where you are, only one audio feed is fed through the speakers; if one is attentive enough, they can quickly locate the point of origin. Today, as it was the last time we went, it was a dedicated music video channel that seems to stick with pop standards from the late 1970s/early 1980s forward, with a focus on contemporary (early 2000s to the present day). I had enough fun just doing commentary that being able to roll the ball was a bonus, and being able to get a clear view of a majestic airplane, my ears caressed by the breathtakingly sonorous oscillations of its jet engine, before entering the building proved even more exciting than the bowling itself. Upon returning, I was inspired to write some emails to people who have inspired me, including 'second attempts' with a few who did not get back to me previously. I think I've found a 'magical range'--approximately 75 to 100 words in length, with exceptions made only if the magnitude of the inquiry necessitates an extension to the allotment. Using this range, I have already received one response--a movingly candid one--from someone I had contacted a while ago but not heard back from, including beautiful insights on what got her started in filmmaking, and advice for those who may want to make their own films in the future. As someone who now considers himself a writer (in the loosest possible sense of the terminology, as I am more likely to be tried under the Geneva Convention for what I've done to the English language), I was taken aback with her style of writing. There is such an organic gentleness, a purity, to how she writes. She made me feel as though I was sitting next to her, looking into her eyes as she told me her story face-to-face. That's a gift not every writer has. I hope she will write a book of her own. It would be an honor to be a 'test reader', evaluating drafts and offering advice where applicable. Perhaps she could help me tighten up my own writing, using what she has learned from her filmmaking. Watching some of the films she has worked on, I am impressed with her use of quick cuts, gentle zooms and close-ups. She has a phenomenal sense of timing, a power to make you feel as though you've traded your eyes for hers, even when the footage is not being presented from a first-person perspective. It is a skill that reminds me how amazing humans can be. There are so many things about the human spirit that can never be matched or surpassed with a computer. The joy I feel, talking to and learning from the many friends I've made, is something to which no algorithm can live up, no matter how efficiently it is programmed. While I am here, I hope to give as much love as I can, to as many people as I can, for as long as I possibly can. Only time will tell how many get back to me, but just having a chance to give someone their flowers means the world to me. If I get any flowers of my own, it is a bonus. I gaze outside to see the sunset; the sun's in my vantage point, so bright that I must immediately turn away. Two birds harmonize in the distance, a farewell to the day, and the dream of a better tomorrow.