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Writing Down the Bones Practice
I don’t remember how old I was. It was sometime after the green military-esque three wheeled electric squirt gun and the orange pedal car I ran over a neighbor kid with. He wanted it, he pissed blood. I think karma balanced itself out when I got my nike. I went from training wheels to none in one day of bleeding and my parents fighting about how I was learning. It’s one of the few times I thought my dad loved me.