I have good sweet loving parents, I really do, but I spent Christmas with them in the suburbs and I haven't been able to leave since. On the morning before flying back home to the city where I live many, many miles away from them, back to my friends and job and own apartment with books and beads and bright green lightbulbs, I go for a run. I slip on ice. I hear my right ankle crack—a tight fluid sound—and right away I know I'm really fucked. Now I'm stuck here, just waiting. Here is my long story about the painful ordeal.
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