Not a Magician’s Assistant

I’m home now having lived through another surgery. Grateful to be here. I’ve survived being cut in half again. I’m beginning to feel like a Vegas magician’s assistant, without the tickets or the revenue.

Seems like my reward is to live to see another day and a few Vicodin pills to rid my body of the pain.

Not that I’m complaining. Another day is what I ask for before I close my eyes at night.

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