I wasn’t always the pansy I am now. I used to have a perm, and no one on Earth is tougher than a butch with a perm— especially when wearing a backward baseball cap, mascara, and a muscle shirt—wallet chain bouncing off my quadricep. Military boots and a look in my eye that said, Give me a white flag and I’ll use it for nothing but checking my oil and wiping my sweat. I drove a Z24 Chevy. The muffler built to sound like a motorcycle with a smoker’s cough. I cried only in private and spent not a single second alone. My best friends were barstools and jocks. My shoulder blades sharp as my tongue,
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