I was running to catch the 9 train, early in the morning tuesday. Apparently I wasn't the only one: I saw you down the subway stop ahead of me. You were sprinting, and collided with a support column. Your prosthetic arm flew off, and you kept running.
You made the train, and I did not. All that was left was your lovely arm, glistening from the summer humidity. It smelled of pine and saddleneck oil.
I have it now, in my living room. It's sitting in a hallway basket, with some umbrellas and a digeridoo. Contact me: I'd like to meet the rest of you.
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