It’s been six days since I accidentally peeled myself and my finger is healing quite nicely: a stubby little earthworm of a scab now sits on top of where a chunk of skin was once missing. The head of the worm is thick and hardened, but where its tail should be the flesh fades into pink and the skin is smoother/new and there are tiny white threads forming a parenthesis around its edges; this is where the scab has already begun to shed, the threads guarding the perimeter where it has flaked away. I am reminded of the time I found a shred of Ulrich’s knee scab on the floor of the bathroom a few weeks ago, an artifact from another injury from the recent past: the time he tripped and fell on old London cobblestone as we were rushing to catch the Tube to Heathrow.
Yes