Romance
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The smell in the garage is lousy. Old bulbs coated with years of dust and cobwebs don't cast the best light either. But when I pick up my guitar and my fingers find the strings, and that first riff comes screaming out of the amp, the only thing that matters is sound.
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That picture I sent? It was taken last year, before Mom left. Before I packed on all this fat. That was a good eighty pounds ago though: you wouldn’t even recognize me if you saw me now.
I barely recognize myself.
