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I’m going to go to the art museum and sit under the “Blue Guitarist” or some other expressionist piece of art and shed tears of joy and nostalgia for a time in my life when gray hairs weren’t sprouting on my head at a faster rate than the amount of debris from outer space hitting the atmosphere and spontaneously decaying.
Come to think of it, I’ll remember the first time my mother fed me milk and start rolling on the grass like Andy Dufresne in the Shawshank Redemption after he escaped prison.
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