| A Squatter's TaleIt was cold. We kept
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| | Universe, we would change nothing.But
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| marching, my partner and I, through the
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| | this week, we were getting out of New
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| December streets. The winter sky
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| | England. I wish there were a way in
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| daunting us, seemingly motionless, as we
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| | literature for me to explain how cold it
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| continued our journey through this
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| | was, by saying how cold my thumb felt as
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| nightmare of sensory affliction.It was
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| | I tried to catch a ride for me and my
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| cold. But it wasn't just cold. It was
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| | lover, but I couldn't -- that is, I
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| fucking cold. Feeling had departed from
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| | couldn't feel my thumb. There was no
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| my fingers, my hands, my arms, my legs,
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| | blood going through it, no life left in
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| my feet, my face. The only part of my
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| | it, no muscle with enough energy to move.
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| that was warm was the only part that
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| | There comes a point in human
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| seemed never to catch coldness: my
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| | communication where some things cannot be
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| stomach. And when I had an itch to
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| | told. The nature of such pain denies
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| scratch there, I reached to do what I had
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| | them from being learned, disallows them
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| to do, and immediately ripped my arm out
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| | from being taught. This plague of
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| of my shirt -- my fingers were so cold,
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| | dissension infects one victim, and he may
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| so numb with frost, that to bring them to
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| | speak of it for the rest of his days, but
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| my stomach was to stir the worst of
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| | nobody will ever understand. He is
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| pains."There's no way I'm ever fucking
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| | alone, he will aways be alone, he will
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| travelling to New England again," she
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| | die alone. Nobody but his own conscience
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| said.We were a crew, a partnership.
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| | will be able to offer a fair empathy.
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| Squatters come like that. Where there's
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| | And so, in like fashion, Firefeet and I
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| one, there's more. If you find one
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| | march through these snowy dunes of New
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| squatter, their partner won't be far.
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| | England, heading south. In a way, no
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| More often than not, their partner is
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| | different than the birds who migrate.
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| also their lover. In our age of
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| | Just a bit slower and willing to take a
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| Materialism and Capitalism, some of us
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| | ride."Hey, Jesus," Firefeet said, "How
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| manage to search through the debris of
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| | much longer do you estimate till we catch
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| human intellect, and find one person who
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| | a ride?""Well, it's about an eternity
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| drives us mad with passion. Time passes,
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| | between cars coming by," I said, "So, it
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| and you no longer consider them a person,
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| | should be any moment now.""It's fucking
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| but you consider yourselves as one
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| | cold as shit," she said, her arms clasped
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| person. And with someone whose character
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| | and folded, shivering, like my own."No,
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| is so powerful, why spend time working
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| | it's tropical," I said, trying to be
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| eight hours a day, just because slum
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| | cheery, "This snow is nothing but hot,
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| lords demand such a high rent? Why live
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| | spring rain.""That would seem to almost
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| in a house when you can simply live in
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| | make sense," she said, struggling with
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| each other's company, for ever?
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| | her impeded breath, "It's the cold that
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| Consequently, the lack of desire for a
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| | burns on my face.""At least with every
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| house coincided with our inability to
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| | step we take, we're one step towards the
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| work, and so we were homeless, squatting,
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| | south and one step towards warmth," I
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| living in abandoned buildings when we
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| | said."There's only one part of me that's
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| found them. These pairs, partnerships of
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| | warm right now," she said, "And it's the
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| the homeless, may be found wherever there
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| | part where only you are allowed."I smiled
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| are squatters. And when a single
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| | into the faceless breach of the oncoming
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| squatter has no partner, no travel
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| | snow, and spoke, "Then let's get some
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| comrade to make it through the dark
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| | friction going so we can both warm up!"We
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| nights with them, they often form a
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| | marched, still, until Firefeet fell onto
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| clique around a partnership of
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| | the snow. I turned to her and wrapped my
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| squatters.My travel partner was Firefeet,
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| | arm over her shoulder. "What's wrong?" I
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| but her real name was Lidia. She earned
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| | said. She didn't respond. I tried to
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| her "street name" from the fact that she
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| | pull her up. "Come on, get up, girl," I
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| can't stay in one place for more than a
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| | said.She started to cry, holding her arms
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| week. She would meet someone, disappear
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| | buried in her chest. "I can't," she
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| from town for a month, and then be back.
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| | said, "I can't... I can't move.""No," I
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| One squatter called her Firefeet, and it
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| | disagreed, "We can make it through this.
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| stuck. That's how names were given: on
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| | It's only just a few more steps before
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| an impulse, and they stuck forever.I was
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| | we're in that tropical weather again.
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| known little more than Jesus. I once met
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| | It'll be so hot, you can see steam rising
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| another man who had the same name, but he
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| | up and out of the pavement. You'll be
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| was given it for a different reason than
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| | praying for a snow storm.""I'm going to
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| me: because he actually looked like the
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| | die," she said with a dying effort, her
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| mythical god. The reason I received this
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| | voice struggling.I leaned in closer to
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| name was because, at the sight of street
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| | her. "You remember that night in
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| Evangelists, I would demonstrate a form
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| | Seattle, where the temperature dipped
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| of sarcasm yet unseen in the history of
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| | down below ten degrees, and we had no
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| mankind. "Oh, praise the lord, Jesus,
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| | where to sleep and no blankets? Remember
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| you saved me!" kneeling down, and then
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| | how we held each other in that alley way
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| perhaps making lewd comments, "God, my
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| | as we struggled to sleep, and you told me
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| poka-doted penis needs your healing
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| | that we would be dead by morning, but we
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| touch!" Since squatters lived on the
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| | survived? Do you remember?""But now is
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| streets, we know everything that can
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| | not like then," she said."Please,
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| possibly go on on these streets: from
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| | Firefeet," I said, "Get up.""I can't,"
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| picketers to annoying business salesmen,
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| | she said again, still crying."Please," I
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| and we have to deal with it, all the
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| | said, "I will do anything for you. Just
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| time. We have no place to go. We are
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| | get up."She sat there, unmoving, her body
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| homeless. Though it would seem
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| | only shaking now and then because of the
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| reasonable, we cannot go back to our
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| | tears. I leaned in closer to her, kissed
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| squats during day time. There is an off
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| | her on the ear, and said, "Don't die...
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| limits rule for returning to your squat
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| | We have but the rest of our lives to be
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| when there is still light out. Almost
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| | with each other."And so, that night went
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| like an unspoken rule in the mind of
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| | on... Several hours past, and we were
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| every smart squatter, it exists becasue
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| | gone. I never left her side. And there
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| police officers will bust squats only
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| | was nothing but several three-worded
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| during the day time. So, we are stuck in
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| | phrases exchanged between us. The snow
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| these cities, these bustling and booming
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| | piled on, and we were only found next
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| places of industry, commerce, and
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| | morning by the Connecticut Sheriff's
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| politics, and in this huff-and-puff
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| | Department.In a very real way, we were
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| society, we still find ourselves the same
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| | already dead. We had been living the
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| place we were last night: in the arms of
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| | lives of ghosts, drifting aimlessly. But
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| our loved one, with nothing but an
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| | what we had, what we found in each other,
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| unrelenting admiration of what things may
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| | though it was not enough to last an
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| come.What is there to do that the poor
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| | eternity, it was enough. Life,
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| may do? Those who are moneyless have but
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| | PunkerslutPunkerslut (or Andy Carloff)
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| one venture: travel. So we hitch hiked,
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| | has been writing essays and poetry on
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| we walked, we trekked. Some days we
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| | social issues which have caught his
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| would wake up, and wonder why we woke up
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| | attention for several years. His website
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| in the state (or country) we did. Our
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| | provides a complete list of all of these
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| blood warms, and slowly the memories of
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| | writings. His life experience includes
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| the previous night flow into our head.
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| | homelessness, squating in New Orleans and
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| But none of that matters, because we fell
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| | LA, dropping out of high school, getting
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| asleep in the same exact place we slept
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| | expelled from college for "subversive
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| last night: beside the one who drives us
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| | activities," and a myriad of other
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| crazy. If we were the gods of this
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| | revolutionary actions.
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