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April 27, 2007

David: Epic(ac)

It was in the summer of my seventeenth year—or perhaps it was after my birthday and therefore my eighteenth year—as I was staying in the little cabin in the backwoods of Tennessee that my parents rented every year and dragged us all up to each summer, whether we wanted to go or not, like the world’s worst timeshare, and pondering the metaphorical map of the road my life was meant to travel, that I was bitten, not by a Lyme Disease-carrying deer tick, but by the tick of Love that would scramble that roadmap like a shaken Etch-A-Sketch.

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