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Afternoon light through the window like a bad decision
Itâs 5:17 and the sunâs hitting the edge of my sketchpad just rightâgolden, but not warm. Iâve been staring at it for ten minutes, thinking about how the surgeon wanted more red in the vascular diagram. I said âmoreâ is subjective, but they meant âmore blood.â I donât know why that stuck with me. Maybe because Iâm still in my old slippers, one of which has a hole near the heel. The kind that makes you feel like youâre half-dressed even when youâre not.
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