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This is that feeling, by Britta Benson

This is that feeling Summer of ‘83. Thirteen, underdeveloped, ridiculous. On my white t-shirt, tiny multi-coloured stars. Yellow, green, satin shorts, no fashion sense, even back then. My rainbow rollerskates act like the wings of a mythical beast. I glide, I dart, weave. And I know: this is that feeling. Free. Wind. Fast. Me.

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