three bandaids on my knee for the mysterious cut, the long bright red. when I left there were three, when I returned only one. I pictured them tangled in sheets, stuck to shoe soles, discarded on the subway. yesterday I passed a lone bandaid face-up on the sidewalk halfway to the depot. the red streak across it the exact angle, the exact dashed-line design. how long it had been there I don’t know, or if it fell going to or coming back. this morning I lost the third, the one that held on so long. blowing in the wind somewhere.
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