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Sweat

It’s Monday, and I’m exhausted from the SeaWorld weekend. My sleep schedule is even more messed up since I’ve been getting home around 1 a.m. each night. Being out in the foggy, wet air hasn’t helped my cold either. I can’t regulate my temperature—I’m sweating even though it’s freezing out. Plus, breathing in all that fake smoke from the machines for five hours can’t be good for anyone. The guests are getting drunker and more chaotic each night, with fights breaking out everywhere. We’re definitely understaffed, but I’m grateful nothing has gone wrong in my area. Somehow, I managed to track down those people I’d reported earlier in their Cruella coats, and they were finally kicked out of the park.









































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