The ever-present struggle.

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I was trying to explain

to someone how my nose bleeds if I get too upset, and how the night Russell died, as I stood by my car absorbing the news, blood dripped into the snow as I raged and sobbed.

Now, like everybody else, I’ve had a lot of shitty nights (including this one —thanks), but there’s something unique about a night when your town explodes with murder, and someone you love goes down, down, down: shot in the head. At seventeen.

Dead.

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