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I didn’t stop her as she walked into the

  • I didn’t stop her as she walked into the woods. I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon breaking out the remaining windows of the factory with rocks. I was a little

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  • kid with big plans. After breaking windows I was going to scrape old gum off the sidewalk and chew it until gingevitus gave me the permanent solution to brushing my teeth. Window

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  • displays begged to be tagged and Old Man Wilson's prize rose garden... it didn't stand a chance against my size 6 combat boots. Maybe later I would

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  • look up the reason for my family's freakishly small feet. Could be the binding I wore as a child. All to be a prize ballerina. Unfortunately, the Russians did not take kindly to

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  • tiny feet. Russians prize big shoes, big hearts, and tiny dancers. I just didn't fit in. Probably why i started to play polkas on the banjo in the first place. Outcast folk music

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  • marked me as an outsider, and the ordinary Russians shunned me. But soon I attracted an audience of the disaffected, as my rebel songs fired their hearts, inspiring them to

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  • love me as they had never before. As I finished, they embraced me, and I felt comfortable in their warm grasp.

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  • Until they threw me off the roof, that was a rude awakening. I bounced off a couple of awnings and landed in a flower bed. Heart broken, I dusted myself off and vowed that I would

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  • never illegally download music again after I got that Damu the Fudgemunk song. I gazed down at the garden of rununculus and bat face cupeah that had broken my fall and realized

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  • that I was in a giant version of one of those desktop Zen gardens. I turned on some pirated meditation music featuring beluga mating calls and raked ripples into the sand.

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