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Little Slice of America

To be american, What does that really mean? I sit here in a Mcdonalds with the smell of sewage burning my nostrils making me nauseated as the stentch mixes with the smell of greasy burgers. I watch as a homeless man begs everyone who walks in, for change. I give him what I can spare. I watch as my fellow americans stuff their faces with processed fast food, all with tired faces. And on the T.V. there is talk about a revolutionary war rising in Syria. We sit here in the little busy Mcdonalds eating fat and sugar shaped in the form of what is passed as food while watching a war, people dead on the streets of a less fortunate country. We are exactly what other countries think of us even though we swear we are not. and I admit I am part of it... We are americans.

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