The Golden Circuit
March 12, 2024 I am wrapping my hands again. The tape is white, stiff, and smells of the antiseptic gel I use to keep the sweat down. It is a heavy thing, this wrapping, the way the cloth pulls tight against the knuckles, the way it binds the thumb and locks the wrist. It is the only thing that feels real in this cell. The walls are painted a beige that tries to be warm but succeeds only in...
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