Another Wednesday and it was my night to cook. Nothing scary this week--the menu reads: Pasta and Salad. They even purchased the feta cheese that I put on the grocery list. But it's 8pm and in the fridge, sealed in it's package, the feta sits.
When I got back from classes this afternoon, one roommate emerged from the living room and immediately
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I think it's safe to say I used to be a punk rocker.
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