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Cardboard boxes always remind me of being a child. How quickly those days slip through our fingers, like a handful of tender sand on the oceanfront. Everything slips through your fingers. One day you're a baby with wide open eyes, ready to be thrust into the world. The next, you're an adult with a hardened face and a broken spirit, breaking down in a bathroom stall with your knuckles bleeding and your eyes bloodshot. Childhood is just being naive. The world isn't all rainbows, no matter how much we wish it could be.

Teenage years are like being drunk in a phonebooth. Clambering in your pockets to make change and coming up short, placing a collect call and ending up talking to a wrong number and being hung up on. When you wake up, you're not quite sure how you got there and what ensued afterwards.
I'm sure adulthood is mostly the same. But sometimes, you have enough dimes.
And you can only make it in this world if you have enough dimes. You can only get the right number if you have enough dimes. If you don't, you get hung up on.

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