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She kicks open the car door.Let me explain it this way: in the 1990s and well into the 2000s, if all the cities in British Columbia's Lower Mainland were to get together at a family picnic, Surrey would be the drunken uncle. Surrey would be the divorcee with addiction problems and a bad wig, or the high school dropout who lives in the basement painting figurines, or the infant with the weird rash in the corner eating crayons. Maybe the aunts would say Surrey could be pretty if she didn't wear all that black eyeliner—and the dog collar! What was she thinking? Surrey was the fool, the screw-up, the whore.
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A bus shelter.