clockThis article was published more than 3 years ago
I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I became like a young Henry Hill in “Goodfellas,” the kid who, in the eyes of his boss, doesn’t understand the value of kitchen aprons. You might remember the scene: An adolescent Henry, his ability to empathize with human suffering still intact, wraps one clean apron after another around the bloody hand of a gunshot victim who collapses outside the pizza parlor.

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