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his days have morphed into black shower gel caps, rotten tea-leaf capsules for breakfast, and low water pressure. he feels like a family radio that was only programmed for five stations.

and of course, woven through it all, is dan. he's relevancy, he's importance, and he's the only exception.

living to die isn't bad, most of the time. there's a sense of finality—you can't control what was going to happen. the future is out of your hands.

still, he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

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