A Meditation on the Smell of Blood
Thoughts come unbidden with a hand laceration and a lot of time to ponder it.

              I have been sitting here for two hours and 45 minutes and I can smell my bandage.  I know it's my bandage and I don't know how I know it.  It’s not like I know the smell that well.  I don't smell this every day.  It really stinks, though.  All the blood's drying.  Maybe that's the problem.  When I cut it at the shop, it really gushed out.  I've never seen so much blood.  It didn't even hurt when I did it.  It didn't hurt at any point.  That's probably why I just kept working, until I saw that I'd gotten a big ass gob of blood on the matting.  It was a good thing I saw it when I did.  I could have put that lady's Mary Cassatt print right on top of it, and then, boy, would she be pissed...

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A Meditation on the
Smell of Blood