Scene: Third grade creative writing class. My teacher asks us to write out a list of our favorite places. As an eight-year-old I wait for a moment with my pencil poised, thinking. I look around me and notice that all of the other students have already set to work scribbling down such things as “my...

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Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated.

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