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All at once they started yelling “faggot” and “fucking faggot”.... One of them missed me with a beer can .... College and my literary education agreed that I should see myself as a random conjunction of life’s possibilities, certainly an enviable, luxurious point of view. But it’s hard to draw on that as a model when four men are chasing you down the street. What life will that model sustain, and when aren’t we being chased?
Richard Mohr (Sun,) studied this question.
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