Nonfiction | December 01, 2006

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I never thought I’d end up here, some sucker looking for hope.  But then, who really plans on being desperate?  Who plans on home invasion or diabetes or falling on your ass after you’ve stepped on a bad patch of ice?  All I know is that desperation got me on this plane to Toronto, where I sit quietly in the middle seat in row fifteen, rubbing a piece of lamb fat across my lips.

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