Furl your sail, my little boatie; Here's the harbor, still and deep, Where the dreaming tides, in-streaming, Up the channel creep.
I cut past the Free Hospital, where staffers contradictorily smoke out front—down Haverstock, past the Hampstead Hill school sign advertising a pimm’s and strawberries on the lawn benefit, past the brilliantly named Downside Crescent, and on to the Legal Inn.
In a consumerist hypersexualized environment where bare-midriffed fifteen-year-olds are the pedophilic standard of desirability, becoming older is coded as a set of deficiencies.
Countries with limited prospectivity have limited options, and generally limited negotiation power.
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