Rubber, silver findings, steel pins
Travelog 765.34/3: Cut
The serrated kitchen knife cut into a lemon, taking the tip of my middle finger with it. Time stopped for an infinite second of shock, resumed when blood splashed the lemon—nice colors—the sharp pain struck. My circumcised middle finger formed a covenant with the word cut. It is not round anymore, but my internal body map still thinks the corner is attached. In Sunset/Sunrise, with my phantom fingertip I touch my lover in another world.