Sometimes I forget to check.
An’ the hands grab me, fists flying in my face, an’ lights explode in my head. If I’m lucky I’m out before I hit the ground, an’ I don’t remember the boots kicking me as I curl up tight an’ try to protect my head.
But I can’t block out the voices: they tell me what’s coming next.
I never did nothing so bad as to deserve this hell.
Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.
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Thanks! It’s good to know that at least one person enjoys my anecdotes. 🙂