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I’m serious. I think I need a pseudonym. I’ve been thinking about this for years. I hate my name. It’s my father’s name. I hate my father. I need a new name. I want something exotic. My name is so simple and drab: Tom Hardie. It isn’t Thomas, either. It says Tom on my birth certificate. I don’t even have a middle name. I’m just Tom Hardie. Mr. Boring. My father adored it. It’s three stressed syllables in a row. It’s poetry! My dad liked poetry. I do too. My name is my father’s poem. I like that my father liked poetry. So I’ll keep the name. It reminds me of my father. He beat me. I hate my father. I’m exhausted. I need to sleep now.
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