- She called you a what?,
Anna screams into the phone.
- Jeez man, how immensely did you fuck up?
I don’t answer. I have enough trouble holding the receiver, because in the process of my molecular structure weakening and loosening up, some parts of me, to put it mildly, disintegrated. I have lost two fingers, my ring finger and pinkie of the left hand, and yet have to get used to it. Take into account, I could have died back then, and therefore do not think that I should be ungrateful. Two fingers are fine. I mean, it wasn’t a nice scene, two fingers disappearing, my nerve endings trying to connect to them, my heart still pumping blood in their general direction and all that. I must have been a pretty unpleasant sight when I went to the hospital that day, which luckily is close to the art museum’s west and therefore easy to reach from within the depths of the central park. I must have looked emaciated, shell-shocked even, aside from my face being distorted with pain. Everybody who gets their very tissue challenged by the environment and circumstances loses a lot of weight in the process. Oh, and bloody. I must have been bloody. Bloodshot eyes and the whole deal with the hand lacking two fingers.