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It was a skit in Poland. Hearts. It was all about hearts there. The man carried a heart around his neck, painted bright red on the Styrofoam. He tried reaching out to one person after another. Each one drove a nail into his heart.

I can hear that sound. The pop and the sound of the nail puncturing deeper. I can feel that nail sinking in. I walk past, and I can feel that nail going deeper and deeper. I try to keep my head high, try to keep a calm expression on my face, but I look as if I’ve tasted something bitter. I look like my face is made of stone. I look like I’ve been hurt. Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones.

I drive home, and all I can think about is how much it hurts.

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