Lose the nail, bucko

My crushed finger is warm. The other fingers on my left hand are cold. But that one finger, when placed on my lips, feels particularly warm.

My body is responding to the damage correctly, sending blood to the finger.

It bulges.

I know I'm going to loose the nail. I'm resigned to that.

It is 5:30 and the sun is down.

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This page contains a single entry by Jeremy published on October 26, 1998 12:00 AM.

My finger as sacrifice was the previous entry in this blog.

Loose October ends is the next entry in this blog.

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