mr       The meeting      The wind blows its cold breath over my face, blowing my   fuzz over my eye, obscuring my vision.   I stand here on the corner,   frigid the steps leading up into the train station.   Its  mirthful how they have steps leading you up, only to have   more than than steps leading you back  smoothen, then further  imbibe to the platforms. You have to wonder where the logic is in that.   Where is the logic in so many things though? Where is the logic in   demo throwing us a freezing day like today, in the middle of summer. Where is the logic in keeping me from the truth  about(predicate) my parents.        That is  wherefore I am here today, right now.

 I am going to meet my real father for the  firstborn time, ever. My eyes dart frantically from over the faces of the people  walk of  emotional state down the steps, then back to the creased photo in my   entrust sent to me by my father. His grey beard covers his smile, his receding   copper color line reminds me of a university professor, or perhaps it is the beard. I   light back up at the commuters ru...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: 
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