Hope found in a coming of age. Spilling the blood of a thousand pens in the journey of self conquest. Can't the air tremble slightly more for added effectiveness of present possibilities? Brewing in the usually placid air rank with futility festering in its fissure of despair. Stop again and check for a pulse, I'm not carrying this piece of shit if I don't have to. I'm in luck, it stopped beating. Time to get some stuff done.

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