"Most of the bored sons and daughters of the trust fund hippies in my relatively bourgeoise mountain town bought their weed from a Neo-Nazi compound complete with German Shepards and a barbed wire privacy fence somewhere in Pocahantas County, WV"
— 8/30, Fiction Writing Excercise
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The Great Poetic Testing of Hypotheses. It's a big red bow of ticker tape. You can see humanity in its eyes as you approach it with your overlarge scissors at the grand reopening of "I was just taking a personal call in a goddamn phone booth and the motherfucker just shot me in the head." In some weeks and months and days you will find that, indeed, you are dead. I am Jess. I am an English Creative Writing Student at the University of Iowa. Ask me stuff. Be interested, be interesting.
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