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Feb. 6th, 2008

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So I'm lying there numbed to the eyeball and flying on nitrous, and I'm in that gas headspace where the music playing is closer to me than the tooth being pried out of my skull, and what comes on the radio as I brace and the roots creak like a rusted door? What song scores the dentist, the assistant, and myself in this three-way tug of war?

The one that was playing for my first kiss, which was so tentative slow and heart-stopping that it took the whole song to make contact. Before we ended up necking in a paused elevator for an hour, that is.

I laugh and the tooth pulls free with immediate relief, is fumbled, and I shoot out from under the mask to cough it bloody into my palm.

That fucker's huge. No wonder it's hurt like a sumbitch since Sunday.

Rodney W., wherever you are, you're a gift from the universe that keeps on giving.

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