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Hold On

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The sound the ocean makes—I never get tired of listening to it. It's one of the reasons I love it here.

There used to be a lot of reasons. Now they're gone, fucked over and ground down until there's nothing left but dust.

I try to find peace in the gentle lapping of the waves, but I can't.

As I start to do what I must, I hear Starsky; the last, best reason I have for holding on. That's when I know.

I don't need to hold on to the badge. I just need to hold on to him.