knead raze so the man might not work miracles. i still say there's magic in those hands. they did wonders for a sprained thumb and a half-broken foot that are now both about ten years in the rear_view_mirror. when i slid my shoes back on after he realigned what a nasty fall threw out of whack, i could sense something shifting back into place. that foot hasn't troubled me since. not once. today he coats my forearm with blue gel, and for a second time he runs a tool that's hard and smooth across a wound that can't be seen. i feel heat without pain. and though what ails me hasn't been seduced into leaving just yet, it's been dulled down to such a distant ache, there are moments i almost have to fight to feel it there. "we're not designed to go through life without an acre of pain," he says. "that's just not how we're built." he hits me where it hurts. makes me moan. "that's the spot right there," he says. fingers knead flesh until the tightness leaves me. "whatever doesn't break us into pieces makes us stronger," i say. "right?" 220930 what's it to you? who go blather from