I don’t think I’ve been inside since I left sixth grade. Last I heard, one of my favorite teachers was the principal; I had an odd idea I might run into him. The door was open. Inside everything from the rooms was heaped in the hallway: renovations, cleaning, painting, preparations. I checked the office, explained my mission: I’d missed him. By a year. Could I look around, take some pictures?
Sure, said the nice lady. This was Fargo, after all.
Click on over and read the whole thing. He's got pictures, too.
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