It all happened in my junior year of college, a year before the gas company turned off the cooking gas in the apartment I was sharing with my best friend. I might add that the gas company must have had absolutely no compassion and a pair of brass balls to go forth with such an injustice. Either that or it was rather presumptions to assume that we
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thing is, the story ~flows~. there's a feeling of a "completeness" to it, like you're handed a curiously looking ball that sits neatly in the palm of your hand. feels good to handle it, you know.
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