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18


He ascended the stairs to reach fresh air. Fresh air and a new start. Crispy croissants and cafe con leche in a new setting. He could make a go of this.
It didn’t matter the earlier times. He had free will, and wanted to execute it. He knew all about luck, and paid no heed to coincidence. He wouldn’t be bullied.
But in himself he had to admit it wasn’t going well. He was honest enough to face up to the facts, at least in front of the mirror. It was something about luggage, no matter how he hated excuses.
There are excuses that cover the real reasons, and there are excuses that are so well crafted that they fool the messenger. But in his heart of hearts he knew there were excuses that were actually true. He just didn’t
really accept them. He had this childish notion since childhood, that his approach to dealing with things like this could affect their final outcome. And so he stubbornly resisted. No matter the weight of evidence tipping the scale
against him.
Because he was also proud, this tough nut of a vice.

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