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October 14, 2001
Today, my face was hot and my lips chapped. I’ve felt like this before. Years ago, when I was a little boy and my sisters were in college. On weekends, we traveled hours to watch the football games. They never won anything. The only good player was the punter. That’s because every game he had 20 chances to kick.

My lips were always chapped.

Me, mom and dad sat on the aluminum bleacher eating popcorn and drinking Rondeau. That’s how I remember those fall afternoons in Lawrence. I hated them. Wishing I was elsewhere. My butt sore, my lips ached.