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Things to pretend that you did when you were eighteen part one.

For a while I work on my spelling. I pull out my dictionary every night and for a while I sit alone and work on my cover letter. That is until I realize that the only word that matters is, you. Then with the help of my keyboard that's also shortened by one. By 7 o'clock I'm as tight as a flat fart and my job is waiting. Welcome home is how I sign my letter, care of B' fucking J'.
So I go out with with some stickers to vote in my bathrobe. CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SYNERGY, CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SYNERGY, it's all up and down Milwaukee Ave now. It's on every little red kiosk and light post between here and Avondale. I keep a yellow chap book in my pocket for jotting shit like this down. It's full of neologisms. It's like a church of spartans in the raft of Texas full of, song song song.
But after a long day in a hot room with Murray and the Luke Skywalker of dance, I really want to unwind. It's like I'm always saying to Theresa, "Like all of the…

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