Every fourth of July, this same feeling wells up in me. I want to murder in cold blood. I don't know where this originates from, I think it might be the ghosts of the revolution dancing around me. I feel like a Hessian, marching to his death through the forests of the Brandywine. I am angry and sad and want to explode into a hundred colors in the night sky. It will pass in the morning, but right now I am violence.
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