Give one crate to the boy above us, tell him we forgive him for puking on our grill. Give one to Mr. Miller when you ask for our security deposit. Bring one with us. A crate full of the meaningful and meaningless of this place. But I am still in the living room, unable to breathe. I can tell you nothing. Everything is in the van with you, except me. What is it to leave a place for the last time? I want to tell you. But I am on the wide green steps, walking away, not knowing.
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