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Man in the Mirror

In my head, I’m still that 20-something guy, absorbing all I can and working on that long journey to figure out myself and the world.

If I close my eyes and sing along to some song that means anything to me, it’s still 1993. I’m sitting on the bed in that rented room on Dallas Avenue, wearing tattered jeans and a tie-dyed shirt while lip-syncing Toad the Wet Sprocket.

For a split second, I might even get the urge to hop on the old Schwinn mountain bike and head to…

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