The Previous Past By Ryan Lance I remember the day like it was etched in my mind by a sculptor with his chisel. I was seventeen and in no way, shape, or form did I want to be attending Clayton High School any more. The thought was as appalling to me as eating brussel sprouts or liver. Why do I need to go though a bunch of motions to prove that I am worthy of …
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showed last 75 words of 367 total
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