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May 1, 2003
I used to live inside my brown shell, minding my own business, happy as a clam. Actually, that's not completely accurate, because most of the clams I know aren't happy. And as I said, I used to be happy. But none of us are happy anymore, because we are forced to end our lives when someone decides they want to eat us and then plunge us into boiling water in order to satisfy their hunger. I don't understand why they want me and my home. And why they think my then-red shell is so beautiful, when it signifies my demise.