Something tells me I'm into something

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CYO and community house dance was not all golden nostalgia. There was pining on the bench. That week's heart throb showed up, but with someone other. Later, discovering you'd stepped in shit, and you were that smell you'd joked about. The Golden Gloves guy from St. Pats threatening to beat you up after the dance. Pimples. The girls in their group, forced to wear culottes. But there were the bands, and there was the music.

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