Remember how in high school there was a clique of popular kids, always the center of attention, scoring the cheerleaders, and so on? And remember how five years later you came back to your hometown, and randomly ran into one of those people with a name tag and a powder-blue oxford, working as assistant manager at the local Walmart? Or maybe he was already married to that cheerleader, who had gained sixty pounds after squeezing out three kids, and they now lived boring lives in the same sort of dumpy, suburban home you’d been ambitious enough to escape? Or perhaps the outcome wasn’t grim: the
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