There's a stretch of woods along the road home. At night it can turn any odd sound into a prowling coyote, an escaped murderer or your ex-husband. You can either breathe deeply, listen for a hoot owl and whistle yourself back to calm, or you can succumb to a blind panic that will send you fleeing up the middle of the road, flat-footed and round-hipped, to pause on the other side, by the Gaffey's mailbox, hunched over and about to vomit from the stress or the effort or the thought of your ex-husband out in the woods you successfully left behind.
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Monday, September 24, 2012
The Big Toenail became so ingrown that it had to be removed.
For a while it became a bloody absence.
And yet, there always was a new one growing in.
Lucky Big Toenail.
"Describe something that is three different things at the same time. Oh, and do it in 33 words."