Last Wednesday's spinal surgery has cleaved dear B in twain - and not the good, steamboat pilot, humorist kind of twain, but the gashed muscle, sweat on your upper lip, Vicodin chewed from a fist in the dark, drooling over the sink at three am, incendiary pain, scary pain, shredding, tearing down the once strong-still beautiful left thigh, kind of twain. So beautiful that thigh.
