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In a classic case of life imitating art, or of art imitating life, we were the characters we played during those sweltering three months in Oregon in the summer of 1985, the year that I turned fourteen. It was a summer of firsts for all of us—first kisses and first beers; back at the hotel, River and I smoked marijuana for the first time, and he lost his virginity that year—but all around us was the sense of an ending. Just as it did for Chris, Gordie, Vern, and Teddy, that summer marked the end of our innocence.
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