new hip

My father-in-law’s hip is back to normal, as much as it will be, per his doctor. Thus ends a chapter of running around for him, because in his literal manner, he’s now good as gold and where we had to do all things for him yesterday, today, he’s Superman.

Go figure.

In his honour, I’ve started a hip new story called Forest Edge, a sort of anti-incel thing based on a Tragically Hip song about the myth of the guitar hero and his girl, setting out on the road in a hot car, Bruce Springsteen style.

It doesn’t end well, naturally.

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