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Subject: Ole

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> >>>>

> >>>>Ole staggered home very late after another

> evening with his drinking buddy,

> >>>>Sven. He took off his shoes to avoid waking

> his wife, Lena. He

> tiptoed

> >>>>quietly toward the stairs leading to their

> upstairs bedroom, but

> >>>>misjudged

> >>>>the bottom step. As he caught himself by

> grabbing the banister, his

> >>>>body

> >>>>swung around and he landed heavily on his

> rump. A whiskey bottle in

> >>>>each

> >>>>back pocket broke and made the landing

> especially painful.

> >>>>

> >>>>Managing not to yell, Ole sprung up, pulled

> down his pants, and looked

> >>>>in

> >>>>the

> hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and

> bleeding.

> >>>>He managed to quietly find a full box of

> Band-Aids and began putting a

> >>>>Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw

> blood. He then hid the

> >>>>now

> >>>>almost empty box and shuffled and stumbled his

> way to bed.

> >>>>In the morning, Ole woke up with searing pain

> in his head and butt and

> >>>>Lena

> >>>>staring at him from across the room.

> >>>>She said, "You were drunk again last night

> weren't you Ole?"

> >>>>

> >>>>

> >>>>

> >>>>

> >>>> Ole said, "Why you say such a mean ting?"

> >>>>

> >>>>

> >>>>

> >>>>"Well," Lena said, "it could be the open front

> door, it

> could be the

> >>>>broken

> >>>>glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be

> the drops of blood

> >>>>trailing

> >>>>through the house, it could be your bloodshot

> eyes, but mostly it's all

> >>>>those Band-Aids stuck on the downstairs mirror.

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