it’s only a flesh wound

As a result of the surgery performed last month (or rather, the day spent in bed following the surgery performed last month) I recovered that voracious love of reading that I had as a child. Unfortunately I can’t buy books (because I read them too fast, and only once, and then I’m stuck with them) and I can’t borrow books (because I never return them.) So I spent last evening at the bookstore, reading Spoon River Anthology with a tear in my eye and an almond latte in my hand (Oh, how sorrowful the verses; how caffeinated the coffee!)

Across from me was an older woman reading about fat-flushing foods, and nearby sat two girls studying for the LSAT. In sharp contrast to the near-silence indoors were four boys outside with skateboards, laughing and yelling as skater-boys are wont to do. I read until I ran out of coffee, then put the book back and meandered over to the foreign language section looking for a book on Portuguese but somehow ending up with one on the Korean writing system. ‘Twas this book I was absorbed in when I felt a peculiar sensation on the inside of my left foot, and looked down to see a half-inch wide trail of blood running from a cut on my ankle (received from the ankle strap of a teal pair of suede wedges, not that it matters) and going all the way down into my shoe. I must have scratched the scab off unconsciously sometime between Spoon River and Korea. (Incidentally, my shoes at the moment were of patent leather which was exactly the same color as the trail of blood now running into them.)  I did wonder if anyone but myself noticed this unintentional bit of color-coordination as I headed from Korea to the bathroom.

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it’s only a flesh wound