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Several years ago, at the worst possible time, my dresser began to fall apart.

The drawers groaned complaints when I pulled at them. Splinters pricked my palms as I grabbed for socks in the middle of the night. The handle of the bottom drawer had come off altogether, so I just left it open, and the legs of my jeans were always trying to sneak out to party on their own. Even though it had seen better days, I didn’t want to let it go.

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