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"What are you doing," I said, jarhead(widescreen edition) full voice, like I'd been up for hours. Erik jerked his hand out of the bowl and jammed it into his pocket. "Hey, honey," he said, turning around. "I thought jarhead(widescreen edition) you were still asleep." I was standing outside Mr. Salvatorre's office, perfectly on time, still having no idea what I was going to say. I finally knocked and he said, "Come in," right away. "Hello, Alison," he said. "Thanks for coming and talking to me." "Hi, Mr. Salvatorre." I sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "So," he said, folding his hands and leaning back, "we seem to have a little problem." "I know," I said. I liked Mr. Salvatorre. He was a big burly man with a big bushy mustache, and he was always drinking root beer. "Your paper's over a week late and I'm not sure what to do. I checked your records and you've done very well in your philosophy classes in the past. Is there a problem?" My mind was shuffling through ideas like flashcards: couldn't pick a topic, couldn't side with Socrates, couldn't think.
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