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to punish me for having it at all.
And that, I knew, would bring them to my door sooner or later.
Just like the three car doors slamming in my driveway on that Tuesday morning.
For the next two years, I lived like someone was watching me.
Not in a paranoid way. In a practical way. Like you do when you’ve grown up learning that the moment you look too comfortable,continue reading …
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