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July 17, 2008
Hungover boys lined the hallways of the hostel the next day, and we left the orange building to have a small breakfast at John Lemon before crossing the river to take the bus out to the airport. Every muscle in my body ached, and I had open wounds that wouldn't scab over. My body was miserable, and my mind raged against my sick flesh, wanting to turn what little time I had in Riga into something more than a tired goodbye. Upon arriving home, I tore off my clothes and showered, but the smell of Riga's damp streets was unyielding.