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Daniel Abondolo
London, UK
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I got the wound that made this tiny scar in 1974, when I was living in the Bronx. I had a job as a locksmith in Manhattan, and was usually pretty tired by the time I got home. I was chopping ingedients for dinner with an orange-handled knife I had bought that year for one dollar. My concentration must have slipped, and the knife slid slightly out of line, and I cut my pinky pretty deep, just above the nail, with a sawing motion. I can remember exactly how it hurt for a few seconds, and it bled a lot for a while after, but I didn't go to the emergency room. I probably should have. For years it healed slowly, and strangely. For a long period there was a webbed, Y-shaped piece of skin crisscrossing where the normal curve over the cuticle should have been.
Then in 1986, a doctor looked at it and said it might never heal completely. And sure enough, there's still the slightest hint that something went wrong there. It's a little record of a mistake -- far from the worst I've ever made, though.
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