He knew this wasn’t right. He was sure he was the only person in existence who did this. He knew something was wrong with him, and he rebelled more.... When he was seventeen he met Roger. Roger was a petty thug. He was twenty-three, tall and lanky, but muscular. His arms were covered with tattoos from his shoulders to his wrist. There were scrolls twisting up his arms like vines, but they weren’t vines. Entangled in the scrolls were words written in ornate letters. They weren’t words that you. I then asked if she would like to walk along the river downtown, and she agreed. We walked and talked, and chatted about our lives. Where we were from, how we grew up, places we have been, the usual things you talk about when on a date to get to know someone better. I took her home and walked her to the door, she lived with her friend Sarah, and I shook her hand on the porch. "Julie, I had a great time with you, and I hope we can do this again soon." OK, that would be great." She said shyly,. More

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