For just under 10 minutes, I had read aloud an inflammatory valedictory address that berated my high school in front of a gathering of hundreds, with a line of administrators staring at my back.
My brother once told me that there are only three types of people who ride Amtrak trains to North Carolina: indigent college kids like me, Southern psychos and convicts.
I was never much of a comic book reader as a kid. But after years of watching friends read violent and dark comics, I decided to give them a chance, and I fell in love.
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