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  • My son helped paint a little playhouse for a new school that was set to open on the top floor of a local Kansas City Church. One day later, he sat on my lap watching the 175 year old church burn to the ground. Between bites of his puffins cereal, he asked, "Where does all the water go?" "Out the front door, across the sidewalk, down the street to the rain drains and eventually into the river," I replied. Then, we both watched in silence as the roof collapsed in on the little freshly painted playhouse.
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