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Cowspiracy Documentary

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Packs of chicken flavored ramen noodles clutter the dorm room while an overdose of Axe body spray in the air clutters my nose. Both of our legs stretch out and cross, one over the other. Our backs are leaned up against a soft, king-sized, memory foam pillow that seems to be encased by an oversized, gray cotton sham. I feel comfortably uncomfortable on his twin XL bed as the credits for the documentary, “Cowspiracy” start to roll in on his 13-inch MacBook screen. Here I am, watching one of the most confrontational documentaries relating to the destruction of our plant, with a guy I met an hour and thirty minutes ago and whose name I don’t even know. Such a powerful film left me speechless, yet I had much to say. I craved a meaningful conversation
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