If freeclimbing were a thing I ever thought about doing, my grip on this letter would be tight enough to keep me hanging on the sheer face of a cliff. You’d never catch me climbing a cliff, but it sounds downright pleasant compared to dealing with this letter. Its cheerful font is a slap in the face, a direct contrast to the not-at-all cheerful threats it contains. Threats, I tell you! Because the assisted living facility where my grandmother lives is clearly run by a terrorist cell. Too bad I have no choice but to meet their demands—a twenty percent price increase to their already exorbitant
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