Sometimes I think back to my adolescence, with its hopeless battle with acne
and hectic masturbation schedule on a creaky couch beneath a shoddy replica
of the Black Madonna of Czestochowa I was supposed to pray to every night
before going to bed, and with the other boys and our silly dares, like running
naked through a cornfield or guessing who slapped your tightly clenched bum,
although it never really went anywhere. Now that the apple had finally ripened,
reaching for it, even if no longer forbidden, simply proved to be way too much
effort.
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