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I pulled up the sleeves to my dad old plaid shirt, the colours blue,yellow, and red all merged into one as the tears from my eyes fell. He was the greatest, how typical for me to think of my dad as my hero. But that was who he was, my hero and my reason for life. Gone.
The letters forming on the board were utterly pointless. My parents careers proved that. What good was learning the history of Britain when all it has one is hold us down. Force us to work the 9 to 5 and stifle creativity. No, this would not do. I could achieve more.
The streets were dire, empty and cold. I sat on the street, fag in hand, the weight of the world on my shoulders. Bills for dads hospice, piling up on in my hallway. This was a desperate time. The limo pulled up, window slowly pulled down, today he would be my saviour.