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The Train Station

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By the time I get under the cover of the train station, I could only imagine that my burger and fries are now drenched and mushy. I decide against eating the soggy food and throw it in the rubbish bin just before the steps of the tube.
I jump onto the steps and make my way to the top of the stairs on the landing. I hurriedly push myself through the oversized double doors. The train station is nothing like how I left it. It is now in complete chaos.
Directly in front of the doors there are flashing cameras, people yelling my name, no room to move and microphones being shoved into my face. What the hell is going on?
"Zoë, what does it feel like to be constantly surrounded by fans?" Yelled the paparazzi.
"It feels amazing to be surrounded by them, but not you guys. You guys just want the next big scoop of gossip from me." I yell loudly over all the questions and try to elbow my way through the greedy crowd.
It seems as I have quieted the questions and statements for a few seconds due to my remark.
I fail my attempt of getting through the crowd of press. It is endless. There was a whole sea of them waiting to prey on me.
"Zoë, can you please pose for a photo?" One man asks.
"Zoë, how is your love life with your hunk going?" Another one asks and so on.
"Why don 't you spend a lot of time with your fans?"
"Why are there scandalous photos of you on your twitter, if you want to draw in a younger audience?"
The questions flood my brain. It has all become too much. Streams of

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