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fast, listing the consequences like items on a receipt: payroll, rent, Tyler’s football fees, Mom’s insurance. The same old script. The litany of obligations that had always, in the past, been enough to fold me back into compliance.
“You’re doing this over a joke?” he said. “Over a stupid prank with a soda? He’s a kid, Steph. Kids mess up.”
“This isn’t continue reading …
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