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Monologue

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HE'S COMING. There's no sense arguing that. He's on his way, any second now he will walk through that rusty-hinged, wooden door. My father: tough as nailsand it showed in his love;he's a living image of his father: both made their boys into men... Of all the places he could choose to stay -- why my house? I know he hasn't seen his grandchildren in awhile. And I commend him on stepping up and being here now. I've always had the impression that he would rather spend time with my sister- his daughter than me. I hope we just out our differences aside and raise the white flag.





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