There were days before the war, when I lived in a state of innocent
bliss. I wasn’t always happy; in fact, I dreamed of leaving that boring life
behind in search of grandeur. My pop would often sit me down and remind me that
at least I had a place to live and food on the table. There were many people
who had worse woes than me. News on the wire kept reporting about something
called a depression, but I didn’t understand. It would be some time before I
saw first-hand the far-reaching effects of the depression; there was still a
while yet before I became a Rosie.
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