Life: the irrevocable.
The man in the video wore a shirt similar to mine. He had a fleck of fuzz on it—maybe a small piece of paper. I found myself brushing my own shirt.
They weren’t even ashamed of themselves, he thought, cursing their provincial product, having long since absorbed that attitude of the New Yorker, for whom the swindler is more to be esteemed than the rube.
The gentle teachers of children: assuagers of parental guilt.
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