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Ann Arbor Affairs: Distance and decisions

He had my yearbook for a solid hour. As I watched him scribble endlessly with black Sharpie across the back page, I struggled to find words to put down in his. It wasn’t that I couldn’t think of anything to say, but the probability of writing down what I considered to be the elephant in the room — a.k.a. the lounge our grad night took place in — outweighed anything else.