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Posted by Stile on February 24, 2003

it's raining. Of course. Why would it do anything else on the worst day of my life? eighteen-year-old libby dalton stared out the window, her elbows propped on the table, her chin buried in her fists. Stacks of boxes cast sporadic ghostly patterns on the wall as the lighting flickered through the rain beating incessantly on the windowpanes.

Why would it do anything else on the worst day of my life? Please help!