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Personal Narrative: A Critique Of Dental Practice

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I feel my hands cling to the armrests of my fake leather passenger seat. Sweat travels down my neck and shoulders, collecting at the base of my back. I roll down my window to try and feel a breeze on my face; it helps with the nausea. David pulls onto the main street in town and stops at a traffic light. He starts a conversation about the new Chinese place opening up on the corner, “Oriental Pearl” I think it’s called. I pretend to listen to him rant about his critique of ethnic food restaurants in Pine Creek, adding a “mmhm” here and there. There are only a few more blocks to go until we reach my dental practice. I can make it. My breathing quickens as a fire truck speeds by us, its siren blaring. The sound sets my teeth on edge. Christy

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