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0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College
0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College
0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College
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0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College

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There is a stereotype of college kids, even those heading there for the first time: they like to drink, party, smoke, and break whatever other rules they can, if only for the sake of breaking them. Connor Reynolds does not fit this description.

Connor is an 18-year old young man from a small town in Michigan who heads to Ohio for college, and on the outside, he appears to be a standoffish killjoy with no real desire to be there or make friends. What the people there don’t know is why.

As it turns out, Connor used to behave like a lot of students he meets at Garfield State University, but he experienced a life-changing event almost a year earlier that completely altered his perception of both his peers and his existence. The trauma ended, but the burden of pain and fear follow him wherever he goes, making for an awkward, miserable experience. Connor avoids interpersonal contact whenever possible and hides his past, while one of his secrets in particular tears him apart from the inside.

In spite of his insistence that he be left alone, he is befriended at school by one person with a big heart who takes a special interest in breaking him out of his shell, but Connor refuses. Yet when his personal life begins to spiral out of control, he is thrust into the depths of his own psyche and disaster looks ready to strike again. Connor is forced to make many hard decisions to improve his status and open himself up to friendship. Unfortunately, one of those choices has the complete opposite of the intended effect and threatens to ruin his life.

A blend of sarcastic humor and drama, this young adult novel is a story of fear, sacrifice, and finding oneself.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJoe Micik
Release dateJun 5, 2012
ISBN9781476197708
0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College
Author

Joe Micik

Joe Micik has lots of ideas; occasionally, he puts them on paper. Joe has written about Boston College sports for over three years at soaringtoglory.com; he also has experience in broadcast radio. Joe is an alumnus of Boston College, where he earned a B.A. in two fields that will absolutely not land you a job. He spends his days writing and his free time -- er, writing. And watching the game(s).

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    0.00 - Joe Micik

    0.00: TALES OF THE SOBER KID AT COLLEGE

    by

    Joe Micik

    SMASHWORDS EDITION

    * * * * *

    PUBLISHED BY:

    Joe Micik on Smashwords

    0.00: Tales of the Sober Kid at College

    Copyright © 2012 by Joe Micik

    Discover other titles on Smashwords by Joe Micik at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/joemicik

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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    0.00: TALES OF THE SOBER KID AT COLLEGE

    Chapter 1

    Son of a bitch, man; are you ready to go yet?

    Connor Reynolds was too busy popping the collar on his green striped shirt, fixing his hair and applying generous amounts of cologne to listen to his indignant friend, Zach.

    Dude, the party starts in like five minutes, added Connor’s other friend, Tim.

    We’ll get there; chill out, Connor said while running his fingers through his hair in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He was making every attempt to perfect his appearance while his friends sat on his bed impatiently. As a high school senior at age eighteen – his I’m legal birthday was one week prior – style often beat substance, and though Connor had plenty of both, he wanted to look extra good tonight. It had to be just right, because after all, what happens to you in high school is pretty damn important. Seriously.

    Really looking forward to this, man, said Zach.

    You and me both, Connor added, still delicately applying pomade to his dark brown bangs. Connor had been looking forward to this party at Craig’s house all week; sure, he went to one at Molly’s house last week, and Andrea’s house the week before that, but this one, he felt, was going to be special. Hell, not only special, but potentially even more fun than the last two. What normal, well-adjusted high school kid doesn’t enjoy a party at someone else’s house on a weekend when said person’s parents are away? There would be more at stake, however, than just a good time with friends.

    Dude, just fix your hair already and let’s go, Tim cried. Connor continued to mess with it, frizzing it up if he didn’t like what he saw and starting over several times. Finally, after a few more moments, Connor was satisfied with his hair and clothes and picked up his car keys, much to the delight of his buddies. Before he got too far away from his mirror, Connor reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of tequila – one he acquired with a fake ID and was saving for a special occasion. What was this special occasion, you may ask?

    It’s gonna happen tonight, Connor said.

    You really think so? asked Tim.

    Totally, replied Connor. We’ve been building to this for, like, a month now.

    It better happen to you soon, though; you just turned eighteen. It has to happen before you leave high school or you, like, lose your man card or something, posited Zach.

    Zach, trust me. We’re gonna do it, Connor responded with complete confidence. Helene and I have been going out since junior year; it’s time. Tonight, we finally seal the deal, and my buddy here will help me, he said as he held up the bottle of tequila and shoved it in his backpack.

    Tim was still somewhat unconvinced. What makes you think that? She’s kind of a prude, he said to Connor.

    Helene is a lot of things, Connor said with a hint of annoyance, but she is not a prude. She wants it really bad, trust me. I’m getting laid tonight, gentlemen, he said with a cocky smile.

    If you say so, Zach mumbled under his breath. Connor heard this and turned to his friend, giving him the ‘death squint.’

    What did you say?

    Nothing, Zach answered.

    Oh good, that’s what I thought, Connor said. This was a very touchy issue for him. Well, actually, to that point, he hadn’t gotten touchy with anyone in the literal sense, but he had every intention of that changing in Craig’s upstairs bathroom at about 11 p.m. Connor picked up his backpack, checked his wallet to make sure that the condom he stole from his older brother’s room was still there, and started to walk out the door with his friends in tow.

    The three young men arrived at Craig’s house on the other side of town about fifteen minutes later. South Heathrow, Michigan is not very big, but its three traffic lights are notoriously long. Of course, when they pulled up on the large two-story abode, there were already many cars parked outside, leaving Connor little choice but to drive half-way down the street and parallel-park about twelve houses away. Connor grabbed his backpack with the tequila while Zach fixed his short blonde hair and Tim popped a breath mint before cleaning his sleek new glasses. It was Connor’s intention to find a nice little corner of the house and stay the night, so as not to drive drunk (but to sleep naked next to his hot of-age girlfriend after plowing her into the next time zone).

    From six houses away, one could easily see the activity coming from the site of the party. The house was practically vibrating as a result of abnormally-high bass on the stereo system, and Connor could see his classmates through some of the windows. The front door was not locked and Connor, Zach and Tim walked right in, immediately greeted by about twenty of their fellow seniors. It was several minutes after nine when Connor and his group arrived; this young man had one objective and one objective only: score with his girlfriend. Anything less than rounding the bases would be seen as a complete failure from his perspective, though hitting a stand-up triple would probably be somewhat satisfactory. His birthday was a week earlier and hers was a week before that, so he figured that getting some would be a great belated gift for both.

    He did not worry about it: Connor exuded confidence as a matter of personality and knew that tonight would be the night. Step one, of course, would be locating her at the party; Connor did not pick her up at her house because he knew that Zach and Tim, horny bastards that they are, would be coming with him, and he did not want them to hit on her on the ride over to Craig’s. After all, she is a very attractive young woman. For his part, Connor, a five-foot-nine teenager with blue eyes, a slight tan and average to above-average looks, could also hold his own in a beauty contest, which is why she stayed with him. Well, that, and word got around from the showers in gym class that he was doing quite well in the meathook department. What makes that odd is that Connor showered privately…

    Anyway, Connor spotted Helene, 5-foot-5 with long blonde hair and green eyes, wearing a cute, tight blue blouse and even tighter jeans which he could not wait to get off of her. After putting her drink down on the coffee table, she went right over to Connor, wrapped her arms around him, and planted a big kiss on his lips. Yes, Connor got wood, and it was obvious to everyone watching this spectacle, but how could anyone blame him – the kid was about to get laid for the first time that night. The level of excitement was certainly growing on his part, in more ways than one.

    As if the party needed any more illicit alcohol, Connor put his bookbag with the tequila on the kitchen counter with all of the other handles while Helene hung off of his shoulder like the naughty wench she was about to be. It doesn’t get any better than this, Connor thought to himself. As far as he was concerned, things were great: he had become a reasonably popular guy in a high school where he did well academically, he had a smoking hot girlfriend, and was living the good life. Nothing could ever ruin these moments he was having.

    By ten o’clock, Connor and Helene both finished a few drinks of hard liquor and were sitting in Craig’s family room with a few of their other friends gathered around. The two in the happy couple were the only ones on the couch, giving them a blank check for groping each other. There was no hand-to-happy-zone contact, but Connor would put his hand on her thigh, Helene would run her hand through his hair and touch the side of his face, so on and so forth. Things were definitely pointing upwards – again, in more ways than one for Connor.

    When eleven rolled around, Connor knew that it was time to make his move. He knew that too much drinking could decrease sexual drive, so he stopped an hour earlier. Connor’s blood alcohol content declined to about 0.09 by then, if not a little lower, and Helene’s was roughly the same. Both consumed far less than most of the other high school students at the party, but it was just enough to give them some level of impairment, and by extension, some loss of inhibition. No matter, though: for Connor, it was go-time.

    He took Helene by the hand, entreated her to get off of the sofa, and began leading her upstairs. Connor’s friend Zach, the very tall young man who had just finished doing a keg stand on the back porch, noticed out of the corner of his eye and cheered loudly for his friend, telling everyone around him ‘dude, Connor’s gonna get laid!’ The moment was finally arriving, and not a moment too soon as far as he was concerned. The monkey would be lifted from his proverbial back once and for all.

    Upstairs, there was very little activity. In Craig’s room, the host of the party himself and one of the school cheerleaders were busy making babies behind closed doors, which was completely obvious because said cheerleader moaned like a beached manatee. They went a few doors down to the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Connor was off to the races: he took Helene by the head, brought her closer, and started kissing her on the lips. He had made it to first base, and was hustling for second as quickly as he could. Connor then moved his hands down to her posterior and before you know it, Connor and Helene were rapidly fondling each other like they were two desperate, middle-aged divorcees. The party outside, meanwhile, was getting louder and louder, and had been for the last hour or so.

    Helene then unbuttoned Connor’s jeans and watched them fall to the floor; all that remained standing in his lower half were his red plaid boxers. Seconds later, he took his shirt off and tossed it aside. With his pants around his ankles and his manhood as hard as an alloy steel flagpole, Connor sat down on the closed toilet seat and was ready, oh so ready, for the big moment. Helene stood right in front of him and put her hands on the bottom of her blouse. Connor knew he was just seconds away from first contact.

    Just as she began to lift the blouse up, exposing her midsection, Connor and Helene both heard a different commotion downstairs. Helene was distracted for a moment and looked at the door, but Connor pleaded with her to keep going. She tried to get back in the mood, and a split second before she was topless, the commotion got louder, followed by police sirens. Helene stopped what she was doing and put her ear up to the door; Connor, itching to remove his boxers, was completely miffed.

    Um, excuse me? Connor asked. We were kind of in the middle of something.

    I think the cops are here, Helene said, very slightly slurring her words.

    Yeah, but –

    I really think we should go, Helene replied, hearing the shouting from downstairs and outside. The neighbors called the cops to bust the party and the flashing lights from the patrol cars dimly illuminated the bathroom through the window.

    But we were –

    Later, Connor; love you, said the half-drunk Helene, straightening her blouse, opening the door, and running to hide. Connor, still shirtless, with his pants at his ankles, and sporting a massive, call-the-hospital hard-on, waddled over to the door to look down the hall for Helene, but she was nowhere to be found. He heard the mobile police radios from downstairs getting closer and closer, as now the men in uniform were making their way upstairs, setting Connor into a panic. Going downstairs was officially not an option, as he would get caught by the cops, and there was nowhere to hide in the bathroom since the shower curtain was translucent. Connor, grabbing his shirt, quickly scanned his surroundings and saw his only way out: the window. He rumbled back over to the other end of the room, stuck his head out the window, and looked down – it would be about a twelve-foot fall, but luckily for him, there were bushes along the side of the house. It certainly seemed like a good idea to him at the time. He also continued to see his friends scattering through the backyard and the woods behind Craig’s house, disappearing into the brisk October night.

    Hurriedly putting his shirt back on but not even thinking to pull his pants back up, Connor opened the window as widely as he could and slithered his way out feet first. Once outside, he sat on the inside of the window sill for a moment, looked down, closed his eyes, and leapt into the bushes below. Connor sustained several cuts from the fall, none of which were serious. He picked himself up off the hedges and tried brushing the dirt and leaves off of him. He looked back into the downstairs window and saw two of the police officers scanning around, witnessing all of the devastation and shutting off the stereo system. He decided to run; clearly, his pants were still down, but the young man was drunk, after all. Connor started crawling his way towards the tree line which separated Craig’s house from his next-door neighbor. After scuttling across the backyard for a few moments to hide behind a tree, Connor looked at the front of the house, and what he saw disturbed him greatly: his friends, Zach and Tim, were apparently not as fortunate as he was. Both of them left Craig’s house in handcuffs, as did Craig (who was in his boxers and nothing else) and his sex buddy (who was wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing else). For the first time in a long while, Connor was legitimately afraid.

    Finally, it dawned on him to pull his pants up and make a straight run for his car, which he spotted half-way down the street. Still drunk and dizzy, he started running for the gray sedan, opening the driver’s side door and laying across the back seats so as to avoid detection. He kept his eyes closed and waited for the activity outside to stop, and for a moment, Connor believed things were calming down. A few minutes later, however, he heard tapping on the window behind him. Connor slowly turned his head and saw a police officer looking right at him. It didn’t take Connor much longer to realize that in his drunken stupor, he jumped into a gray police car, not his own gray vehicle.

    The police officer opened the door to his patrol car, and Connor, knowing what thoroughly deep shit he was now in, got out slowly and put his hands behind his back. The cop wasn’t so quick to cuff him, but when he detected alcohol on the young man’s breath, he was officially arrested for the first time in his life. Connor moved into the back seat once again and made his way to the police station. He sat in silence for the entire car ride, completely blindsided by the hand which fate had dealt him.

    While at the station, Connor was searched thoroughly. He knew that the cops would find his trusty fake ID, and they did. As they pulled the card out of his wallet and examined it, Connor tipped his head backwards and gazed at the ceiling. His friends Zach and Tim were in the same room being processed, and they knew that he was in for some more serious trouble. The party’s host and his squeeze for the evening were also there, but in a drooling, drunken narcosis. Connor would later learn that the police also found his bookbag – with his name and address on it – holding that bottle of tequila.

    All of the youths present were charged with misdemeanors for violating Michigan’s strict underage drinking laws, which could mean fines, probation, or worse for any minors consuming or possessing alcohol. Connor, however, received a second misdemeanor charge for possession of fraudulent identification, and the fact that there was tequila in his bag didn’t help matters, either. He and his friends were completely resigned to their fates, feeling an overwhelming sense of gloom and doom while knowing that there was absolutely nothing they could do. The entire group would soon have criminal records, and despite most being minors, this conviction would stay with them permanently unless they should have a clean record during probation.

    Connor was in an emotional vacuum from then until the end of November; he felt nothing. He spoke to his parents and friends, but there was nothing there, as if he was still processing what had happened and wondering if it was real. He would see the judge and respond to questions as well, but still, he had no feelings at all. Connor’s resignation had completely taken over. It goes without saying that he did no partying at all after his arraignment in October and subsequent release on bail.

    Eventually, all of Connor’s friends would have court dates as he did, where all pled guilty. Zach, Tim, and Marisa, the cheerleader Craig boinked, were given probation, fined, and sent on their way. Craig was fined, sentenced to probation, and given mandatory alcohol classes. As for Connor, his two misdemeanor counts earned him a sentence of thirty days in jail, followed by a lengthy one-year probation. It was possible that Connor could have been given a sentence similar to that of his friends, but the county judge, who was up for a tough re-election fight the following year, wanted to fight his ‘soft’ image and make an example of him. The fake ID was the real coup de grace in the case, and the judge pointed out that Connor needed a short jail term to ‘scare him straight.’ He also noted that some people get much longer sentences as a result, but his first-time offense did not warrant it.

    Connor realized that if he had been caught a few months earlier, he might have been shuttled off to a juvenile hall, but no, Connor would stay with the big boys. His parents hung their heads in disbelief at his sentencing just a day after Christmas.

    Connor’s jail term started immediately. It was partially situated over his high school’s two-week winter recess, meaning he’d miss only about two full weeks of classes. He was taken away from the county courthouse in handcuffs and transported to the county jail, where he now had a month to kill and plenty of time to think.

    Chapter 2

    Connor expected to be taken to a prison like he might see on television, with hundreds of cells and many grizzled inmates inside them. Instead, the county jail, a few miles outside of South Heathrow, was very small, slightly dark, and virtually empty at that point. The county is small and so is its jail, naturally.

    In handcuffs and a fresh orange jumpsuit, after having been thoroughly probed by the on-staff nurse and made to fill out half a forest’s worth of papers, Connor was deposited into his cell by one of the guards and locked inside. Aside from the darkness and emptiness, he paid particular attention to the smell. His cell had the same hot-doggish odor of a men’s locker room at a senior center while also seeming metallic and oxidized. He could also tell that it had been many moons since any fresh air was circulated in. As a result, the air was musty and heavy, putting a long-lasting scowl on Connor’s face. Furthermore, the heating was not very good, so the harsh winter cold of the Midwest outside often felt like it had found its way into the cell.

    The good news, if there was any at all for him, was that he did not have to worry about a cellmate in his eight-by-eight personal Hell just yet. There was no one in the cell across from him, either. He was afforded at least some level of privacy for the time being, but at the same time, this very sociable young man was now completely alone, shrouded in near darkness.

    Connor climbed up to the top bunk-bed in his cell and laid down, facing straight upwards. All he could do for the first half an hour or so was stare at the ceiling, not even letting a stray thought pass through his mind. Eventually, however, a flood of emotions found its way to the surface and he began to wail. Here he was, a kid of barely eighteen years who just wanted to have fun with his friends, and he ends up going to jail. Connor considered the injustice of the situation, seeing as how over half of his friends had fake IDs (though not on them on the night in question) and committed many of the same crimes as well, but he was the one who got caught. In a way, he felt like he did the suffering for all of them.

    These thoughts of anger turned sharply to fear. Connor worried about his future for the first time when he was laying in that jail cell. Prior to his arrest, he had always assumed that going to a good college and getting a better job were foregone conclusions, therefore having fun was more important. He was previously not the kind of person to stress about such things, but now, there was a very real possibility that all of his life plans could be ruined or significantly altered.

    Connor was not allowed more of a chance to get in deeper thought: a few moments later, a commotion came from the hallway. There was previously complete silence, but now there were definitely more people coming. Slowly but surely, over the course of the next few hours, the cells began to fill up, and finally, a guard stepped in front of Connor’s cell. A split second later, Connor’s new cellmate arrived. He was a tall, thin, heavily-tattooed young man in his twenties with very short blonde hair. This individual was the kind of person who looked as though it was not his first trip to this jail, nor would it be the last. The cell was opened, and the young man went inside with Connor.

    The blonde-haired inmate, named Tommy as Connor would later learn, made no attempt to converse with him, nor did he make an attempt to speak with Tommy. In fact, Connor would not even make eye contact with him. He did not want to be alone, but it was preferable in his estimation to being in the company of criminals. Connor sat in complete silence on his top bunk, only moving to receive his food or do his natural business, which embarrassed and demeaned him. He knew that that would be required of him in jail, but having to go ‘number two’ in the presence of someone else was extremely uncomfortable – not that anything in jail was comfortable, including the beds.

    The lights dimmed even more at night, and in the solitude of darkness, Connor was in tune with his own thoughts. Not surprisingly, he began to experience even newer emotions. Whereas before he was mad and scared, by that night, Connor was full of regret. As a result of his experiences, he began to take a completely different view towards drinking and the party lifestyle in general. Nothing of what happened at the previous parties ever bothered him before, most likely because he didn’t have to avoid a police raid by jumping out some dude’s window or get charged with two crimes. Having experienced that kind of fear of consequences for his actions, however, put things in the proper perspective for Connor. He soon realized that he was a teenage boy who did some very adult things and was paying the price accordingly. Connor also cursed having turned 18, thinking that if he went to juvenile hall, things might have been more tolerable.

    At first, Connor rejected these feelings of disavowing his fun-loving attitude, but over time, it started to make more sense to him. He knew he had those thoughts in November and December, but being in jail brought them to the surface.

    The quiet did not last long. His feeble attempts at going to sleep were constantly interrupted by shouts coming from down the hall. Some were just general yells directed towards the guards, and others were anguished wails, though this category could be subdivided. There were inmates who cried out in terror at their plight of being locked away, but there were also a select few being victimized. Connor had watched enough adult entertainment in his day to know what that sort of thing sounded like, even from a distance, but when the man being violated also throws in pleas for the other inmate to stop, it is unmistakable. He did not even have to see the events with his own eyes to know what was going on, and it horrified him more than anything he had ever experienced. From beginning to end, Connor was terrified every single night at the prospect of being a victim himself. Before October, Connor was the boy who personified the phrase no worries; after a few hours in jail, everything was worrisome.

    Following his first night in county jail, every day was exactly the same. Connor would get up, shower in front of older men, eat bad food, and think. Some of those men would stare at him and ogle him, only increasing his level of fear. When it looked like any would try to get close, he tried to get away. He was constantly surrounded by hardened criminals and kept as much distance as possible from each and every one, but usually, the most distance possible was a few feet. Connor wasn’t a big fan of jail-related television shows, but he knew that inmate violence was not uncommon, and he sometimes wondered if he would leave alive. To him, there was no distinction between a dinky little county jail and a federal prison; it was the same general clientele.

    Connor’s parents came for a visitation on New Year’s Day. This was not exactly how he thought he would be celebrating the coming of 2009, but he had no alternative recourse. On an infrequent basis, he was able to make phone calls, and since his parents came to see him whenever they were allowed to do so, he used his calls on Helene. She seemed disappointed that her boyfriend was in jail, perhaps patronizingly so, but gave him concrete assurances that she was not going to leave him. Connor took comfort in the fact that Helene would stay with him in light of what had happened, saying that it was just like him going away for a month. Of course, Helene never went to visit him, and neither did any of his other friends. Connor had some resentment towards his closest friends for not bothering to see him, and this bitterness stayed with him.

    Every other day, Connor ended up with a new cellmate. Some were older, some were younger; some tried talking to him, some did not. He did not even bother trying his best to be civil: he hated being there so much that he almost fully refused to acknowledge anyone else around him. One of his one-night cellmates, a middle-aged, overweight man, made an obvious pass at him. Connor rejected his advances and luckily, for his sake, the man stopped at touching his shoulder when Connor said ‘no’ and threatened him. Unfortunately for Connor, however, his cellmate the very next night was a lot pushier, and he had help. Try as he might, Connor would never forget the horrors of the night of January 11, 2009.

    As January went on, Connor began to experience strong feelings of depression for the first time in his life. Coupled with the fear that his future was in peril, his thoughts became exceedingly dark, a perfect match with the cell in which he was imprisoned. At his lowest points, his mind was so pointed towards self-harm that whenever his eyes locked on an object in the room, he began to think about how he might use it in a suicide attempt. Connor had to try his hardest to convince himself that his life was worth continuing, but it was far from easy. He ended up crying himself to sleep several nights a week, and not just for the fact that he often heard hellish screams in the background, even if they were just frustration yells. He had to make sure the sound of his wailing was absorbed by the pillow and therefore inaudible, because he didn’t want criminals to hear it. Connor also could not stop thinking about what had happened to him that one night in October, and he certainly could not escape those thoughts in his dreams.

    The old Connor wasted away right before his very own eyes. The joyful exuberance and extroverted attitude he once had were gone, and he lacked the willpower to find them. This was the first time in his life that Connor had ever been faced with hardship of any kind, and he previously thought himself to be invincible. Connor got a hard lesson in adulthood that he did not expect and it completely broke his spirit. Life no longer mattered to him.

    He soon tired of his only companion being his brain. Jail is a lonely, horrible place, especially for a high school student who was previously unable to conceptualize the consequences of his own actions. Not surprisingly, he was still

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