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I walked out. I left. Andy Jankowski had taught me how.
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Jews put black over mirrors during times os mourning so they wouldn't think about themselves. But I never did look in mirrors anyway, because I disliked myself. No, wait. I disliked my appearance.
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It was any outcast's nightmare.
If I looked carefully, I suspected I might find it beneath the black paint of the small acrylic by the window.
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