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Weekly Contest #112
Ms. Nettles, my therapist, sat there in that overly dignified chair in her exceedingly decorous office and crossed her legs, dotted her I’s, and stared at me through her thick lenses that felt more like magnifying glasses glaring at my problems rather than corrections to her less than perfect vison. I hated everything about this office. The huge windows that let in copious amounts of blaring sun rays that supposedly forced a person such as myself to produce dopamine but it just made me hot. Those poor plants that honestly looked more starved...
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