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The summer between high school and college, I went up to Seattle to
register for classes, look around, and see in just what kind of place
I'd be living for the next four years. It's a strange feeling leaping
out of the cocoon of your high school environment. You're leaving a
place where your position in society and amongst your fiends is, if
not optimal, at least well-known. I responded to this feeling by
wearing all my old punk clothes, which I hadn't worn since dropping
out of the scene a year earlier. It was definately a subconscious
attempt to reapply familiar armor. Plus, I wanted to show those folks
in Seattle just who was comin' to town.
However, it was much warmer in Seattle than I'd anticipated, and my
boots much less comfortable. I spent hours traipsing around UW in
black jeans, carrying my jacket and a rumpled duffle bag full of
stuff, sweating like a pig with aching feet. No one was impressed
with my spiked belt. I felt dumb.
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