Liberal Lunch Hour The pungent smell of grease and bar-b-q sauce stings your nostrils as you longingly stare at the sports car that just pulled up outside your drive-thru window. Your eyes tear up, possibly from the thought that you will never be able to own a car like that working at a fast food joint for $5.15 an hour, but more than likely the tears are from the freshly cut onions sitting nearby. Your life …
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showed last 75 words of 543 total
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