Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Forty-Three
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There is something about seeing those lights when I come down the stairs.
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No more leftovers. Cold yogurt for breakfast. Orange juice. A few slices of bacon. Why do I keep making it when no one will eat it?
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Following the plan.
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No one wants to wake up early, but then they complain about being late.
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They probably did a ton of research to figure out the most satisfying sound.
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“You need a mask.”
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We’ll go right back to where we were before.
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It’s not the underwear. It’s the old man’s comment and the underlying desire for approval and perfection.
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Like I said to her on the phone, we are all just wounded children.
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Too much caramel popcorn.