I wrote this story for my fiction class that I really, really didn't feel good about. I went into class simply dreading the workshop. And, for the most part, it was a standard workshop. People made the mandatory innocuous compliments, and then pointed out a few glaring mistakes I already knew I made and had already put myself on the rack for.
And
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Good for you for dressing up. And making your gay roommate feel gay by crying with him over television.
Tell mom, she'd be stoked.
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I still like the title, though. Fyi.
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