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age i
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05.22.08 / 2:52 pm
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in his shoulders was a heaviness, a refined sense of gravity, like everything that he had seen only weighed and pushed, bent his back to breaking, leaving a weathered, road-map wrinkled face and bold, arthritic joints. the faded scars on his knees spoke, saying, "real men fight wars, son, risk loss of life for country." and it was hard to mistake the disabilities of hunched shoulders, walking cane, and distant gaze - the disabilities of a real-man reality.
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