Monday, July 13, 2026

I almost love a pothole. Scabs.

Potholes that make you fall down in a strange parking lot at night, fearing your twisted ankle won't let you get up, and the world will show you that it's not filled with good people. Potholes that later get filled in so well, you would almost think to yourself that maybe the pothole never was actually there to begin with, but for the scabs on the scraped knees that stuck around for days and days afterwards...

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