This one day when I was in middle school (I can’t remember if I was twelve or thirteen or eleven or what), I was at the public library looking through the plays, which were located near the young adults section. I used to feel terribly grown-up and sophisticated looking at the plays, which were mostly Chekhov, Shaw, and Shakespeare. I rarely checked any of them out, except for this copy of Romeo and Juliet that also contained the book for West Side Story, and this copy of Pygmalion that also contained the book for My Fair Lady. As I was…
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