Ordinarily, one would associate the notion of childhood with things like sunshine, or spring beginnings, magical flying unicorns, and the like.
I cannot stress how deeply this irked me as a child. Which is probably what drew me to the universally beloved and loathed Series of Unfortunate Events, by Lemony Snicket.
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The day started well. He had felt a curious sense of calm as he rocked out of the Tempur-pedic, flossed his teeth twice, and made eggs, two of which he fed to the turtle. Six capsules went down with eight ounces of fruit punch, and in a bathrobe, he sat down at his 1963 Remington, and began to type.
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