I was a statue, haunted by the phantom of my former self, metal handle tight between my fingers as I grimaced at the students who passed.
The library would be packed on any other night. This was finally my chance to get a good spot.
The fifth-year commerce student and son of third-generation oil baron Brichael Dawgman wakes up at 4:01 a.m. every day, because he knows 401k is some sort of financial term.
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