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  • Looking at the x-ray of my damaged shoulder on the left, and the newly repaired one on the right, there's not much in it. A few centimetres either way. Ok, it's neater when the bone fits nicely in the socket, but the implications of it being just out of place: a missed breakfast, a trip to the hospital, inconvenience for my friends, pain for me, then Vicodin and the veiled threats from doctors that it may never be the same again.

    Time and place. People and things. When they fit together, you hardly notice, it's just how it should work. But: a minute late, or a misjudged word, getting into the wrong train carriage, or the wrong argument, all of this can throw your game off, until you're hurtling down a potholed highway, no lights, no exit signs.

    Some people always seem to fit. Fit in, fit together. Right place right time bullshit. Others clunk and jangle through their days. Badly timed handshakes, inappropriate wardrobes. Out of it.

    At least with the body, you can pop things back, patch them up, and hope they will return to the way they're meant to be.

    But the dislocation between people, between what we want from each other, and who we really are. Between where we end up and where we hoped we'd be. That's harder to pop back. Instead, what started as a few words, a small difference, one wrong turn, expands and whirls away from you until it seems impossible to imagine that there was ever any connection between the two.
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