My father was the quintessential self-made man.
Dad waited up at first, but by the end of sophomore year he was always in bed.
Do they not sneakingly bestow on me their crass inability to do anything with their own misbegotten progeny, a subterfuge which I scornfully fub off on text-books?
I can't feeze it out among these strange entanglements of circumstance and personalities.
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