Flow.

One by one, they took the stones out from the wound; I got tears in my eyes but I laugh, joke around and make myself at ease. “Whatever gets stuck gives you an infection” they said, still working. I see flesh hanging on my knee, could hardly fold it right. No painkiller was given, they thought I was drunk.

“You’re mistaken” I said “I don’t drink”

“But you handled it like one. Good job.”

Not so bad eh? The cigarettes in my pocket are quiet; they’re good at what they do. My lungs give out a sigh of smoke while I exhale my head. We’ve been taught, given precautions to avoid pain but how do you know it’s pain unless you’ve had it? Time slips like money from torn pocket ends and I still wear the same trouser like I’ve got no choice.

“Whatever goes, goes” I say to myself and give no shits about what comes.