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A middle-class white man watches over all you do.
You want somebody else to know.
You are free.
There’s more to a picture than the moment it is taken.
Bad things will happen, the paper says.
You don’t know what happened to the chicks.
You want her to want this as bad as you.
You could hide, spy, eavesdrop, kiss each other like in Neighbours (but not with mouths open).
Everybody has their thing.
Most people don’t dance. Most people pretend to dance.
You know how everybody else seems solid? That’s how everybody else sees you.