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I could feel my eyes begin to well up…The

  • I could feel my eyes begin to well up…The sickening feeling of tears running behind my face, into my nose and down the back of my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even gasp.
  • I clawed for the button to roll down the window like a rat on a sinking ship. Locked. Dad had locked the windows. Now he turned the heat on full blast. What had he eaten? I'm
  • fragile. Hello? The too-hot car was melting the adhesive on my false eyelashes and they started drooping, making me look like a tarted-up Lindsay Lohan after a weekend bender. Dad
  • though wouldn't bail me out. The rest of my football team dressed as various versions of bong-hitting Mylie Cyrus or BP oil spill clean up folks. Our coach
  • was the best dressed guy on the sidelines, though hardly a fashion guru. Stone washed jeans and tie-dyed T-shirts hardly give an image of authority. Still, the team was only
  • just visible under the thick layers of t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, cardigans, knitted woolly jumpers, fur coats and bobble hats. Oddly, the teams legs were bares in their shorts
  • - or was it that that team's legs had BEARS in their shorts? Yes, that would explain why
  • They all had that harsh Soufside accent. They would talk reverently about Soldiers Field, and da Sox, and insisted on hot dogs with celery salt and a virtual salad of condiments.
  • Pasta salad. Potato salad. Egg salad. Otherwise, no salad. That was how these Chi-Town locals rolled. Even after Big Eddie had his triple bypass, he still
  • wanted to feel that he belonged. But there was no going back now. Might as well have been a dream. He closed his eyes and jumped.

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