Rudder’s right. It’s hard to write all cricked up. But it’s even worse than that, because I’m a pussy. Periodically I’m in denial about this, but it hit me today while I was driving to the feed store, thinking I was doing alright for a moderately injured person suffering from a twisted neck and sore shoulder. The temperature must have already hit 98 late in the morning, when I saw some guy who looked to be about seventy-five pushing a lawn mower in his front yard, puffing on a cigarette. I nearly stopped to ask him if the doctors had let him know when they were going to pull the staples out of his chest, but I was too ashamed.

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