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Echoes of the Howard years
“This is nothing,” he says. “Five years ago when I worked here last, we got death threats every day. Eventually my car got hit by a rocket through the engine.” Jesus, how did you cope? “Oh, a wee touch of the post-traumatic stress disorder.” Silence. “My wife left me.” Silence. “We’d been married 30 years.” “Still,” he brightens, “it’s all better here now. So what do you need?”

They could not possibly offer me enough money to risk the kind of awful acceptance displayed in the rest of that article.
Makes my skin crawl to think about it.

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