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i desperately need help on a story I'm writing

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A pop-up book of flowers from grade 4 are driving her insane...

i desperately need help on a story I'm writing

Postby trentm32 » 10/6/2003, 4:20 pm

Alrighty, I've been planning on writing a book for ages. I finally sat down a few months ago and started it. i've made it to the eighth page, and I have no clue where I want to go with it from where I've gotten. If some of you guys don't care to give it a read, and give any advice at all as to where this thing could go, I'd love you forever. Let me know what you guys think. I'll also attach it in a Word doc, in case the CM thingy cuts it off...

*edit - crud, the CM won't allow for a Word doc to be attached*

______ tentative title: "a trip" __________

Have you ever been going down the road, and once you reached the place you were supposed to turn at, wanted to just keep on driving? That’s pretty much been my whole life: the overwhelming urge to escape. Not really to escape anything in particular, just to get away. Just getting so tired of trivial things. Tired of responsibility, tired of caring, and tired of life. Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t one of those crazy depressed people prepping to chug a bottle of sleeping pills, I was just ready for a break.

I had gotten into a fight with my parents a few days earlier, and being seventeen, I considered myself adult enough to handle my own decisions. I had just graduated from high school, and I was only two months away from being able to go to war; so I figured I was more than capable of deciding if I should go to a certain party or not. To tell you the truth, things had been brewing for at least the last four months; when I told my folks that I was thinking about moving out and getting an apartment with some friends as soon as I turned eighteen. They weren’t even very serious plans, just a random idea I’d mentioned. They had been fretting about that, and that final quibble just pushed it all over the edge. My mom just kind of dazed around acting sad; but my dad is who really caused the problems. He would get home from the local bar about every night, and wake me up and set in a screaming lecture about any possible thing he could find wrong that could even remotely be blamed on me. I had taken it for seventeen years; my limit was breached.

After everything blew up, I packed my old brown leather duffle bag with a few days’ clothes, some CDs and a discman, my toothbrush, and a few choice paperbacks, and headed out the door. My car was in my parent’s name, so I called my friend Will to pick me up at the end of the street. I was too mad to wait, so I just started walking, and met him when he got there. My mom was going hysterical as I walked out the door, begging me to take my cell phone with me so she could give me a call later to know I was alright. I refused. That was in their name, too, and I wanted no ties left tied. As I was shutting the door behind me, I heard my father shouting at me to never come back. God willing, I intended not to.

It took Will about fifteen minutes to get to where I was, and I was still fuming when I saw his signature one-headlight Jeep slowly pull up behind me. Once I had hopped into the open rag-top, we sat quietly for a few minutes as we headed back to his house. He had no real need to ask what had happened, he’d been urging me to do something, anything, for the last year or so. I finally broke the silence by thanking him for letting me crash with him for the night. “No prob, bro,” he replied. “My parents aren’t too fond of yours anyway, so they won’t mind if I put you up for a little bit.” “Don’t worry; I shouldn’t be there too long, I’m going to do something. I’m getting out of here. Somehow I’m getting out of the South. If I have to catch a Greyhound and head North, then so be it.” Will chuckled at my little exposition. Looking back, I’m sure it had to sound a tad funny. But, funny or not, I still meant it. And that’s what matters.

When I got back to Will’s house, I finally had peace enough to think about what I was going to do next. I considered going to my Aunt’s house upstate, but that still wasn’t far enough. Apart from my aunt, there was no one else I could turn to but my cousin, Conner. I’ve got to admit, though, Connor probably wasn’t the wisest decision; but alas, what do you expect from a seventeen year-old thinking on his feet. You see, Connor was what you could best call unstable. He drank, did drugs, and lived in a crummy one bedroom apartment in North Carolina. Well, that would get me out of the state, at least. Connor and I had always been pretty close, at just five years older than me; we grew up together with me thinking of him more as a big brother than a cousin. Well, at least until his folks kicked him out and he moved to Carolina. That’s when he got really bad, and my parents wouldn’t even let me see him anymore. Using Will’s phone, I dialed up Connor’s number I had stashed away in the back of my wallet, just in case I ever needed him. Astonishingly he actually answered the phone. He sounded kind of groggy, but it being about four in the morning by that time, I suppose that can be expected.

He congratulated me on finally standing up for myself, and told me I was more than welcome to stay with him for as long as I needed. Well, at least that went well, I now had somewhere to go while I got my head on straight. At 4:30 AM, I finally lay down for some shut eye. What a great two and a half hours that was. At 7:00 AM, I woke up, got a shower, shaved, and drug Will out of bed to give me a lift down to the bus station. Along the way I stopped by an ATM and withdrew the remaining $382 dollars I had in my checking account. Since my parents signed with me to open it, I figured they would be closing it pretty soon, to try and force me back. Luckily I beat them to it, and I emptied my account out for my journey.

As we pulled up the bus station it finally hit me: I was on my way. Whatever happened from that point on would be my doing. Be it right or wrong, smart or stupid, caring or hateful, it would at least be my decision. With my duffle over my shoulder, my wallet stocked with every dime to my name, and my beaten burgundy jacket slung over my thin shoulders, I was off. I bid Will farewell, and left him with a note for Anne, a girl I had been seeing. Things weren’t too serious, but I still felt I owed her some sort of explanation for just up and leaving. Will wished me luck, and I told him I’d give him a call in a few days, and let him know I’m doing alright.

I climbed upon the chilly bus on that late October morning, and bid farewell to what I deeply prayed would be my old life, and prepared to start what I at least hoped would be a better new one. After everyone was loaded, the bus pulled out, and headed down Fifth Street toward the main highway.

I had bought a ticket that would get my to the state line out of Georgia, I had planned to snag a more precise ticket from there to get me further towards Connor’s. It didn’t really hit me when I got on, but when riding on a slow moving bus, a trip tends to take quite a bit longer than in a car pulling 80 MPH. Seeing as the bus had to make pick-ups at every single stop in-between, it quickly started to get dark before the trip was even halfway over. Then it started to rain. Perfect, I thought. Just what I needed to slow things down that little bit more. Ohh well, I might as well enjoy the ride. I laid back and pulled out my four year old discman and slid in a copy of the Counting Crows CD, “Across A Wire, Live In New York.” As the music flowed through my head, I had what could best be described as a revelation. Life is a lot like riding on a bus on a rainy night. I know that sounds kind of lame, but at least hear my logic. You’re surrounded by people you don’t know very well, things are dirty and dank, and you never can quite see where you’re going, due to the darkness and rainfall. The only real comfort you have is yourself, and whatever you bring along. That’s where my discman came in. It may seem like something unimportant, but when you need a shoulder to lean on, you’d be surprised how supporting some good music can be.

Since I had only had about three hours of sleep over the last 36 hours, I pulled my duffle into my arms, shifted in my coat, and leaned against the window to try and catch a few minutes of shut eye. Not surprisingly, I passed out. I came to as a man I soon recognized as the bus driver awoke me and told me we were at the stop. I thanked him, and loaded my shoulder up and stumbled off the bus. Once I had awoke enough to function coherently, I headed into the little building they call an office. As my luck would have it, the ride I need doesn’t leave until 9:30 AM, and it was 4:15 AM at the moment; looks like I have a bit of time to kill. I leave the bus station, and aim toward what I assume is the town.

I soon came across an all-night diner; it was empty except for the middle-aged, mostly toothless waitress, so I headed inside for a cup of coffee. The tooth impaired woman gave me a polite nod, and I ordered some caffeinated black. Truth be told, I hate black coffee; I just needed something to warm me up so I could think. I stayed at that little place for the next two and a half hours, slowly sipping my coffee until it began to creep far below room temperature. I slid out of my small booth at about 6:50, thinking a walk would make me feel a little better. It took me close to another half hour to get into the thick of town, and by then things were starting to open up.

I spotted an old, run down book store by the name of Chester’s Books, so I headed inside for a look around. As I entered, I found a surprisingly attractive young lady behind the counter; she couldn’t have been a few years older than me. As I looked at her a little closer, I noticed something seemed off. She hardly noticed me upon entering. Superficially she was sorting books, but you could tell there was more going on with her than that. She had the saddest look in her eyes. The way her nose slightly wrinkled, and her lips were just barely puckered, almost as if she was desperately trying not to burst into tears. It was then I noticed a slight twinkle at the corner of her left eye, a tear trying as hard as it possibly could to slide down her cheek.

I then began to wonder what could have driven her to a state like this. Perhaps her boyfriend, or fiancée for that matter, had broken it off just minutes before. And, being the only one set to open the shop, she had to come in; no matter what emotional state she may be in. I desperately wanted to ask her, but deep down I knew I was too shy to say a word. I guess even with a new life, old habits die hard. As I turned to leave, she finally acknowledged my presence. She looked toward me, not at me, but in my direction. I suppose she thought that if she didn’t look right at me I wouldn’t notice how deeply she was saddened. She looked toward me and tried, what I could tell was the best she could, to muster a slight smile. I returned the gesture, and slid out the door.

As I made my way back toward the bus station, I began to wonder about what would come next. Believe it or not, I used to be a pretty meticulous person. Not having a plan just doesn’t bode well with me. Having had most of the morning to think I decided that I couldn’t stay at Connor’s for too long. I personally don’t use drugs too often; and being around it for extended periods of time tends to wig me out. I could crash there for a week, max, and then head to the next place I think of.

I finally made it back to the old station, but I still had about forty minutes to wait. Since the few office seats were already filled, I just stayed outside and sat in the cool fall air. My ears were starting to get numb, so I pulled on an old toque I’d gotten last winter for a ski trip. It wasn’t exactly the coolest style in the world, but it at least kept my head at a reasonable temperature. While I was waiting for the bus, and elderly man came up and sat beside me. We chatted for a few minutes about the weather and such; just small talk in its tinniest form. It was then I noticed how good it felt to have a conversation. I hadn’t actually talked to anyone since I left, when I bid Will farewell. It made me feel good that someone I didn’t even know wanted to talk to me; even if it was a bald old man with a beer belly.

Five minutes after its expected arrival time, the bus finally pulled in. I was off on the next leg of my journey. As I boarded, I noticed a good-looking girl, probably right at my age, sitting alone and leaned up in the back row asleep. Pulling together every ounce of courage and testosterone I had, I made my way back to sit beside her. Maybe I finally could break that shy habit. As I sat down alongside her, she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t wake up, didn’t shift in her seat. Nothing. Ohh well, maybe I can spend the time she’s still asleep to think up something fascinating, witty, and intelligible to say to her. Nah, with all the time in the world I couldn’t put that sentence together. I waited anxiously for a few more minutes to see if she would wake up, but she still just lay there. She looked so peaceful; I suppose it’s for the best to enjoy a good sleep when one actually comes along.

Since I had given up on meeting the girl, I pulled out my weathered old copy of Jack Kerouac’s famed novel “On The Road.” Needing inspiration for a road trip of unknown consequence, it seemed like a perfect fit. I’d read that book at least half a dozen times, but I kept on still the same, having nothing better to do but re-read still remembered passages. Ohh well, it beat thinking about my trip anymore. Every time my mind drifted to the future, all I could do was worry that I’d end up as a hobo digging through garbage cans. If it came to that, I don’t know what I would do.

After about an hour, the girl beside me slowly lifted her head up, and looked around groggily. When her eyes scanned across me, she surprisingly smiled, and asked how long she’d been out. “I got on about an hour or so ago, and you were asleep then.” I replied. “Any further than that, I haven’t got a clue.” She then looked at her watch and shrugged her shoulders; “Not too long.” she said. It was then I started to get nervous. How could I start a good conversation and not come off like a nutcase, and not cause her to quickly change seats to one not quite as near to me. Luckily, she made the first move. “So, where you headed?” she asked. I was thinking so hard about what to say to her to start a conversation; I didn’t even hear her when she spoke. “Huh?” I said. ‘Wow’, I thought. That was about the least smooth thing you could have possibly said. I could kick myself later, now I needed to rebound. She repeated the question, and I coolly replied “Up around North Carolina. I’ve got some family there I haven’t seen for a while.” “That’s cool.” She replied. “I’m heading the same way.” “Neat,” I said. ‘Neat’? God, I suck at this. Anyways, she seemed not to even notice my lack of suave, and we continued on talking for the next half-hour or so.

Since we were headed in the same direction, I recommended that we travel together. To my surprise she was actually excited about the idea, and happily went along with the thought. After a few more minutes, I realized that I didn’t even know her name; so I introduced myself. “I’m Jay, by the way.” I said. “I’m Cassie, good to meet you,” she said. Things were finally looking up, I finally felt happy for the first time in days. Maybe things would work out for the better, after all. Maybe so.

When the bus finally rolled into the next town, I can’t even remember the name of the place now, Cassie was asleep; leaned up on my shoulder, as opposed to the freezing bus window. It almost killed me to wake her; she looked so peaceful sitting there. I gave her until almost everyone was off the bus, then I finally shook her shoulder lightly. She shifted in place, but still didn’t budge. I then said “Cass, you need to wake up.” She slowly lifted her head and gently smiled at me, and she got up and took my hand and led me off the bus.

It was late afternoon, and the next bus we needed didn’t leave from that station. We needed to get two towns over within the next three hours. I found a phonebook and searched for a taxi service; but to no avail. I was in a town smaller than my home, so taxis are quite a rare thing, indeed. Walking wasn’t really an option; so hitchhiking was about the only course left. We hiked to what seemed to be about the busiest road we could see. We tossed our thumbs in the air and tried to look as little like psychopath murderers as possible. I had personally never picked up a hitchhiker in my life, so I was hoping some people were more sympathetic than I was.

We stood there for close to an hour, but an old VW van finally pulled over. When I got a fair look at the driver I understood why he would pick up hitchhikers. He had to weigh over three hundred pounds, and it was pure muscle. This was one of the largest, manliest men I’d ever seen in my life. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he was driving a lime green VW van, but hey, when you’re that big you can drive whatever you want, and not have to worry about what other people think..

Cass and I started chatting with the guy, who was named Hector, and he was about the nicest person I’d ever met. It turns out he had the van because he was a volunteer environmentalist, and he was carrying the van to Canada, where they were going to retrofit it to run off an alternate fuel source; and drive it around crusading for less pollution. It sounded novel in my book, so I donated twenty bucks to the cause as a thanks for the lift. The trip took a little over an hour, so we got to the station right on time.

We got everything taken care of, and loaded up on the rickety old Greyhound for the last bit of my ride to Connor’s. Tired from our little day of adventure, Cassie fell asleep on my shoulder, and I leaned on the bouncing window to catch a few minutes shuteye. We were both awoke by a sharp howl and people grumbling in confusion. It turns out the bus had a flat tire, and if we’d have been moving any faster we could have been in some real trouble. Because it was so late it took close to an hour for it to be fixed, and we had some time to talk while we waited for things to work out. Someway or another, we got into talking about our lives, our problems; needless to say the conversation quickly became a ‘share my pain’-fest.

It was in this conversation that Cass told me something I don’t think I will ever forget. I was breaking down why I was out here, and why I was headed to Carolina. When I was about halfway through, she looked at me and sweetly said “You know, Jay, sometimes things just go, and all you can really do is just hold on. However much we want to, we can’t really effect what happens. All we really have control of is our lives, and what we do with them while we’re here.” I don’t really know why, but that made a lot of sense to me at the time. Chalk it up to hormones and confusion, I guess. After I was finished, she started in on her origin tale. It seems her parents had been divorced since she was a young kid and her mom had just been put into rehab; for the third time. She was heading up North to stay with her Aunt, who was poor, but at least clean. At about the time she was closing her story, the bus driver popped out and said “All aboard,” and we were on our way again. I was soon asleep again, with Cassie right beside me.

I awoke to find myself alone on the bus, once again staring at an agitated bus driver wondering why the hell I wouldn’t get off his bus. I apologized for being asleep, and after a second I noticed that Cassie was gone. I asked the bus driver if he’d seen her, and he replied: “Yep, that hot broad headed off right when the bus stopped, she’s been gone for about five minutes.” ‘Hmm’, I thought, I wonder why she would leave without waking me. I guess she just stepped out ahead to try and spot a cheap restaurant. While I staggered around half asleep and quite confused I tripped over a fallen tree branch and toppled to the ground.

As I fell, my half-opened duffle bag poured open, and I soon noticed something was wrong. While I was picking my clothes, books, and scattered couple of CD’s up I noticed that my small satchel I had hidden two-hundred dollars in was open, and most importantly that it was empty… well, for the most part, anyways. When I picked it up, I found a small note scribbled on pink stationary paper. On it, Cass had written

“Goodbye, hold on tight. Believe
it or not, I really am sorry.
Love you, Cassie”

I don’t know why, but I just started laughing hysterically into the dark, cold night. Cassie had robbed me blind, leaving me with nothing more than the hundred odd bucks I still had stashed in my wallet. The strange thing was is that I wasn’t even really that mad at her. If she wasn’t lying about her mom, I guess she needed it more than I did, anyways. If she was lying, then ohh well, I suppose I’m just a big idiot. Since I was broke, it’s a good thing I was only a town over from where Connor lives; I could surely make it there on what I had left.

I began walking the guesstimated twenty miles Northwest to Connor’s, hoping a car would come by and offer a lift. It took over an hour, but a small trucker finally pulled over and asked me if I needed any help. “Yes!” I gleefully exclaimed; a crummy seat in an eighteen wheeler was quite a bit more comfortable than my sore feet pounding the pavement for God knows how much longer. He said that he was headed the same way as me, and that he’d be happy to drop me off as he passed through. I happily thanked him, and continued on talking with him about anything that came to mind. Turns out he has two daughters, which he loved dearly it would seem, and one was about to start school; the other pre-school. He explained in excruciating detail which teachers they would have, what they were going to be learning, and repeatedly reminded me of how darn cute they are. The conversation was boring, I admit, but it sure beat walking.

It took about fifteen minutes, but we got to Chester County without a hitch. From there, I would stop at a payphone and hope that Connor was home and was sober enough to pick me up. It took a bit of wandering, but I finally found a payphone that wasn’t broken. I pulled Connor’s number out of my wallet, only to have a robotic answering machine pick up on the other line. “Great,” I said aloud. Looks like I was spending the remaining couple of hours of the night wherever I fell down. As tired as I was, the bench beside the payphone was looking pretty comfy.

I was awoke by the sun streaming into my eyes, and soon found that my toes and fingers were nearly numb enough to fall off. It took me a second to notice the police officer standing behind me, tapping his foot in what can best be described as a very pissed off fashion. “What do you think you’re doing, son?” He asked. “We don’t allow that kind of lollygagging in this town. If you need help, get it. But by God you ain’t gonna be caught sleeping on my bench again. You get me?” “Yes sir”, I politely replied. This guy didn’t seem like he’d be too helpful, so I stretched, picked up my duffel, and started walking down the street to get away from the cop. It took about a half a mile, but I finally found another payphone.

I used the last bit of change I had left, and tried Connor’s number one more time. It rang twice, and then it was answered. Someone on the other line said “Hello, how can I help you?” I quickly noticed that the voice wasn’t Connor’s, so I said “Hey, can I talk to Connor?” assuming it was one of his buddies or something. The voice then replied “Sorry bud, but Connor Johnson was arrested yesterday on charges of possession of illegal substances. If you still want to get in touch with him, best bet would be the county lock-up.” I was stunned. My entire plan was to get here, that, having some kind of objective, is what had kept me going. After a few seconds of silence the cop hung up on me; I soon did the same.

I decided that, seeing as Connor had been kind enough to have at least tried to help me, the least I could do is see if there’s anyway I could help him out of this. It took about forty-five minutes of wandering around and asking directions, but I finally found the city jail. I stopped at the door and straightened myself up as much as possible. As rough as I must have looked, I was afraid they might think I was on drugs. With my hair straightened out as much as possible, and my face slapped a few times to get out the numbness, I headed through the door.

Inside, the place looked like any other local jail, a couple of cells, a few desks, and some old fat men eating donuts and chatting it up like schoolgirls on a playground. The first thing I saw was Connor locked up on the far right wall; he was curled up asleep on the little cot in his room. I strolled up to what seemed to be the head guy there, and asked him if I could see Connor. At the sound of his name being stated, Con perked his head up and caught sight of me. “Hey cuz, good to see you” he exclaimed coolly. That was one thing about Connor; he could keep a straight head no matter what was going on around him. I begun to walk toward Connor, and the lead dog cop I had spoken to jumped in between us. “You got five minutes” he said. “That kid’s going down hard; ain’t that right Mr. Johnson?” The cop asked Connor. “Yeah, whatever” was his witty reply. The cop just glared at him.

I continued toward him, and asked him what happened. “It was a sting, man. Come to find out, the cops have been staking me out for a few weeks now. Good thing you weren’t there, bro; you’d probably be in here beside me.” “Yeah, good thing” I replied. I then continued right into the thick of it “So Con, what’s your bail been put at?” “Don’t know yet, but I’m betting it’ll be pretty darn high.” he explained. “Ohh… is, is there anything I can do to help?” I asked. “I doubt it, man. Cops found quite a bit of stuff in my apartment. This could be my big fall. Suppose I might as well go down with some dignity, instead of making a fuss and getting things even more stirred up. I figure I can be out within six years. Maybe I’ll write a book or something while I’m in there.” I chuckled at the idea; Connor had been talking about writing a book ever since I could remember, I just didn’t think he’d ever get around to it. If nothing else comes of his probable lock-up, he’ll at least have some time to put his thoughts down. I promised him I’d keep in touch, and come back around as soon as I could to see how things were going for him. We bid each other farewell, and with that, I was off without a plan in the world. It took about another five seconds until I realized that, with Connor out of the picture, I have absolutely nowhere to go. I couldn’t go home, I’m far too stubborn for that, and I only had enough money to get to one place. Wherever I went, it had to be the right decision.
"When looking up there, I just felt whole, like I belonged. Like one day I too would shine my most brilliant. Sitting there also made me think about sitting through services at my little country church back home. About that never-changing congregation of the same sixty-seven people and everyone has known you since before you were born. Now, out here in the real world, everything just seemed more vivid than when I used to sit in that little pew. That pew that was now so, so far away from where I was. I feared I had somehow left God behind there, too. I feared he was somehow just sitting there, saving my seat on the fifth pew from the front row, just waiting on me to come back. I left so quickly, I worried that he may not have noticed I was gone. And, now, I’m just too far away to find. So he’s just sitting there, patiently waiting on me to come back. I closed my eyes and prayed a moment. I hoped more than anything that he could still hear me." -an excerpt from my novella, A Sea of Fallen Leaves.

<a href="http://www.soundthesirens.com">SoundTheSirens.com</a>
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trentm32
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Postby happening fish » 10/6/2003, 5:24 pm

Ok, a couple things. First of all, is this supposed to be a book, or a short story? I'm confused. If it's meant to be a book in the long run, then I've got a couple tips: first of all, the line about crazy depressed people chugging pills won't win you many fans. And also, (especially if you plan on extending it into book length), you have to stop telling the reader things, and start showing them. I don't know how to explain that better, but it's one of the hallmarks of a good writer. Don't just list of facts and events... try to make them come alive. That's really the best I can explain it... but you definitely have the beginnings of a good premise there :)
awkward is the new cool
[url]gutterhome.blogspot.com[/url]
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Postby trentm32 » 10/6/2003, 6:47 pm

I'm gonna try and make it into a novel, that's the plan, anyways. Thanks a ton for the feedback, it's still very much a work in progress, as I've yet to even give it a real second read through for editing. Oce again, thanks. If anyone else has anything, hit me fellas.
"When looking up there, I just felt whole, like I belonged. Like one day I too would shine my most brilliant. Sitting there also made me think about sitting through services at my little country church back home. About that never-changing congregation of the same sixty-seven people and everyone has known you since before you were born. Now, out here in the real world, everything just seemed more vivid than when I used to sit in that little pew. That pew that was now so, so far away from where I was. I feared I had somehow left God behind there, too. I feared he was somehow just sitting there, saving my seat on the fifth pew from the front row, just waiting on me to come back. I left so quickly, I worried that he may not have noticed I was gone. And, now, I’m just too far away to find. So he’s just sitting there, patiently waiting on me to come back. I closed my eyes and prayed a moment. I hoped more than anything that he could still hear me." -an excerpt from my novella, A Sea of Fallen Leaves.

<a href="http://www.soundthesirens.com">SoundTheSirens.com</a>
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