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     Alvin

It's been like two months since all this therapy. Accidents happen, and one can tend to forget it over a certain time. Or atleast try to. With all this continuos remorse group thing going on, it's hard to focus on reality. Hard to focus on anything but my accident. Of course I'm sad, but I don't need to express my feeling to a bunch of strangers! Thats NOT at all the way to cop. But this darn thing ruined my career. Well I can say that what my career was going to be, ruined my career. Atleast now I'm not completely selfish. Atleast now I don't misjudge sight. I can't see anything. Or anyone. Why should this happen to only me? Derek is way way worse. All my tremendous efforts went in vain. No pain no gain is completely and overrated, and an utterly dumb belief. All I got from my homecoming game, was all pain, no gain.
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"Do you want to stop by Chick-Fil-A? I'm not cooking tonight because me and your dad have a client to attend to, which means-",
"That I will have to babysit Tom, I get it." After this awkward pause at the signal, I let out a sigh and finally answer my mother's question. "Fine, Chick-Fil-A it is". From what I understand, we drive over to that extremely crowded Chick-Fil-A at city centre. We stop by at the takeaway window and the clerk greets my mom and she answers back with the same tone of kindness. She tells the order and I sit there and with whatever dim-lightd view I get, and stare down at my phone. It's as if my eyes are like this blurry and stained frosted window, from which you can't smudge the particles of dirt off. I can't even recognise half the people because of this. Who new that one hockey puck can make or break you. "Hear you go hun," my mom says to me as she hands me gently the hot paper bag from which steam travels with the fragrance of chicken nuggets and barbeque sauce. I bend back, and place my phone on the back seat. I stare out the window, watching the frosty rain floating away into the air as we speed into the freeway.

We exit into our neighboring street right after the freeway. Beckholmes St. is right next to White Haven, where I live. My ex, Lauraine lives nearby, but after the accident, after I'm no longer an active jock, she hasn't once come to my doorstep. We enter our garage, and I see this women at our door, talking to Nana. She hands Nana this handcrafted box, made of tin, rimmed with golden ribbon. It seemed like those expensive cookie boxes that mom used to get from Denmark ad Scotland. We get out, and I see my mom greet this women. She is our neighbor, Gloria Ramirez. The Ramirezes' are kind people. Last Christmas when I threw a party, they didn't even tell my mom. Probably because they didn't want to cause her any more when she and my dad were already under the stress of divorce. Mrs. Ramirez looks at me, and gives me a smile, and it's so pure that I can't help but smile back. I don't know if she has any children, but I remember,that when I was young, I used to see a pink and purple glittery bicycle parked at their post box, and that this girl used to drive it around, and sell cookies. However I haven't seen her since. I wonder where she is now.

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