21:
Well, here it is. I'm 21. I don't have any wonderful plans either. I think my brother might take me out, and someone brought over a bottle of wine this morning. God, I wish I were in Chicago. I really hate it here.
There's a cool web of language weaves us in,
Retreat from too much joy and too much fear:
We grow sea-green at least and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
--Robert Graves
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