Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

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Where Everybody Knows Your Name

My local clinic isn’t actually local. Boasting neighbors like IKEA and the Midwest tourist trap that is the Mall of America, my clinic is a 20-minute drive — one way. I could take the moderately more scenic route if I didn’t have a penchant for running late, but I am, to no one’s surprise, my father’s daughter. It doesn’t matter how “early” I get ready — between my caregiver’s daughters and the accident waiting to …

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