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The burly guy with a hammer on his belt told me he was going to whoop my you-know-what.
It wasn’t the first time someone who recognizes me from my day job has given me the stink eye, and most certainly won’t be the last.
I’ve been f-bombed clean out of stores — once while buying potato chips for my kid’s youth baseball picnic — by people whose family members were listed in crime reports or court dockets.
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