In the ambulance I felt sharp edges when I scraped my teeth with my tongue. “Your jaw is broken,” said the emergency room doctor. I asked if my teeth would be okay. “Then you shouldn’t get on the scooter drunk.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Love,” I stammered, “it is afraid of loving. Me too now.”
I called him, he didn’t pick up.
My teeth were made after a week.
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A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of February 18, 2023