Narrative essay: Muddy Mud Foot.
As a child, I grew up wishing I had an older brother so that I could get away with my roguish acts more easily. Instead, I was blessed being the youngest and only boy of three. This did not hinder me from being a wild mischievous boy, who picked on his sisters any available chance. Even though I was always indecisive about the decisions I made, I always had a clear plan of attack on how I would madden my sisters next.
"Travis, telephone. It's Dooooominic," my mom yelled.
"Huh," I was suddenly broken off from my deep concentration of popping fleas. There must be a whole city of fleas on…
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