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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.
Bart came upstairs a little later, while I was trying to get my clothes on. I could comb my hair but not put it into a ponytail holder. I lay on top of the bedding staring at the ceiling and holding my splinted hand in the air.
“So, what was he telling you when we came in?”
“Some bullshit story,” Bart said, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. “Nothing really. But debrief me. What was all that about in there?”