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It catches him across the jaw and the world’s a blinking, spinning mess, as he tumbles on the long axis of his body to spit blood on the stubblegrass of Fort Wayne, Indiana. What the fuck’s in Fort Wayne anyway? A credit union, two Comfort Inns, herds of engineers and all her childhood. She grew those doe-brown eyes here, and those legs and those white teeth: learned to count, drank beer, stole candy, killed a rabbit in her mother’s van. He came to meet Fort Wayne, and it met him back, with the sharp clean ring of copper pipe on bone.