About three weeks ago, I was working as an administrative assistant at a law firm in Washington, DC, near Dupont Circle. On a good day, my ten-mile commute took me an entire hour by bus, subway, and foot. During the winter, I might stand at my unsheltered bus stop for up to thirty minutes in subzero temperatures, often enduring the verbal vomit of fellow commuters-one of whom even caused me to be subpoenaed in his criminal trial before he killed himself.
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Horror Isn't a 4-Letter Word:
Essays on Writing & Appreciating the Genre
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