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My very first job was in an ice cream shop. That means between the ages of fifteen and seventeen I smelled like a waffle cone and had between three and seven sprinkles scattered throughout my hair at any given moment. Summers were long and hot, but if you made nice with the boys that worked in the pizza place next door you either had a make-out partner for the deep freezer, or someone to trade you obscene amounts of pizza for obscene amounts of ice cream.
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