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I'm quite fond of my nose piercing, but the amount of crud that builds up is unbelievable. Cleaning out my right nostril has become an essential part of my morning routine. I wake up feeling like I'm packing a piece up there or something...
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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