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It’s sweaty and full of bodily fluids. It’s dark, humid and has the scent of something that died a few days ago. It’s full of all kinds of hair and other unmentionables… it’s the Pit on a Wednesday evening.

It’s dark. You’re driving down University Boulevard, and the silence of your night-time drive is only fractured by the sweet lullabies of a crooning Taylor Swift filtering through your car stereo. It’s a perfect drive — too perfect. You speed up, delighted by the gentle purr of your car’s engine, when all of a sudden you see it: A flash of black. Then blue — that dreaded blue.

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