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II: Another Story I Tell Myself


          That brain tumor? Benign. Excised long ago. The only damages? Your grin is slightly lopsided, and you’ve lost the meanings attached to certain words— thunderstorm, ketchup, hammer. Also, you can no longer identify many dog breeds— beagle and Newfoundland are lost, and most of the terriers are vague. Oh, and you can’t remember whether or not you like cauliflower, or jazz.

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