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I really wonder why people don't treat me gently. I do a job, a real good job - I clean my room, or something like that - and I feel proud, and you ought to be proud of me too.
And the neighbours are brilliant, and we were having a good time, and I'd be happy. Then when the time comes to go home, I feel rather sad, and I turn into the sad me.
Anyway, there sure are a lot of different me's, just like you have a lot of different you's.
Well, I'm going outside now, outside right now, to call all the neighbours, and that's fine too...