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Interesting. As I shed my work clothes for a pair of ratty black jeans and a Skinny Puppy t-shirt old enough to get into the bar on it's own I remembered my mother telling me about my grandfather changing into his scruffiest clothes after finishing work at the bank. Yes, my grandfather worked in a bank. I never knew him. He died in 1948 at the age of 48. Men in my family don't live long. This is part of my concern about wasting my life...

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