I still have not mastered how to correctly read a newspaper in a crowded train car. I get the Sunday New York Times every weekend and because of its massive size it takes me nearly all week to read on my commute each morning. I am always a mess of crumply papers flopping everywhere, trying desperately not to hit the person seated next to me in the face. I don’t know how some people can just neatly fold it and have everything come out fine. Is this a cliché metaphor for my life?
Just maybe…
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