Story of diversity: I'm different

No, I'm different, I'll never tire of repeating it, but it's something there’s not discussion.
I'm different from the lady in the elevator, with those freckles on the cheeks and her blond hair. Mine are brown, a particular one, though.
Nothing comparable to the porter who swept in the entrance.
Well, someone could say you're different, except for your hair.
There is brown and brown, everyone knows it.
Do you understand?
Is it true that you understand?

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