3.26.2009

WRITING EXERCISE

Everything about me felt tired. I was sure that people could tell when they made a point of looking away from me. I got dragged into a methadone clinic and twice into churches. My car was full of unread Watchtowers and Narcotics Anonymous fliers. There was room for improvement. But I couldn't help feel that everyone I met was overreacting. I'd been dumped.

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