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There is a place, hidden in plain sight. Chances are, if you attend or have attended West Virginia University, you have walked by it. Nestled deep inside the student union, there lies a wall of glass, and on the glass the U92 logo proudly rests. This is the college radio station; the source of Morgantown’s only alternative programming, and more importantly: one of my many homes.
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As I’ve become more and more experienced as a programmer, one thing has abundantly clear: the less time you spend writing code, the better. Much like writing a book, if you just hop on your computer and start typing, you’ll eventually find yourself tangled in your own work, making something that is more or less impossible to work with. If you chose to continue working on the same poor foundation, more and more time will be spent dedicated to solving problems that you caused, that could have easily been prevent. It is because of this that the majority of my time is spent carefully deciphering what the problem is and planning out how I will solve it.
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It was another classic day in Morgantown. Cold enough to require a jacket, and hot enough to sweat in one. As I awoke from my light nap, I felt the thick humidity of the air as my shirt stuck to parts of my chest. Groggily, I went over to the kitchen and started the tea kettle for my evening coffee. It was around six in the evening, and I was following the usual thursday routine: go to class, take a nap, and head over to my college’s radio station to prepare for the five hours of music. This time however, I was adding a step. Nick Flynn was doing a reading in the downtown library, and it just so happened that it fit perfectly into my schedule. The little exposure I had of Flynn’s work impressed me, and there was no real reason not to go.
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It was early October in the very recent year 2017, and I was standing at the PRT station thinking. The thoughts consumed me, sharply dulling all of my senses. Though the thoughts were focusing on a very bad thing, I strangely felt a neutral feeling while I unpacked each and every one of them.
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In modern American society, there’s always this notation of forward motion. As it stands, we as a country are always “pressing the gas” for better or for worse. If you aren’t moving forward, you are a waste of space. You are left behind. You are forgotten. My hometown is not exempt from these suffocating societal bindings. My hometown has never stopped growing and expanding. Every time I come back from a semester of college, another Starbucks has opened up. Commutes take an additional 5 minutes. Housing values rise by a huge factor. The closest grocery store has once again been bought out and remodeled.
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It was the late afternoon, a Tuesday if I recall. I was sitting down with a hot cup of coffee after a day of classes. I’ve done this routine many times before. Sit down, study a bit, maybe get a refill or two, leave. While working on whatever particularly needed to get done that day, a conversation or two might catch my attention. It is a coffee shop after all, and people either sit down to chat or to work. The conversation topics are mostly mundane, but two men caught my attention through the soft music and light mummering of conversation.
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