Why Being Abroad is Not All Bed of Roses
19 Jun
Here I am, taking the seat at the corner, the only elevated area of the coffee shop. I never take this seat unless nothing else is available. I always have this unusual feeling when elevated, like being stared at (although I do not possess the charming looks people would want to even take a glance at), jeered at (I’m thinking too much), and pestered by rowdy and vicious juveniles (alright, let me jog my memory — crumpled. paper. hit. face. New York. coffee shop). Crush out the last one, it is very unlikely that it could happen in Brookings.


















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