Megan

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On the kind of groan that past-their-prime people make when getting out of chairs at home, I stood up. I’d been festering in my apartment for too long if I couldn’t remember the difference between “privacy of one’s own home” and “in the presence of others” noises. I gathered my authory accessories—notebook, pen, laptop, and phone—and headed out into the heat.
Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)
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