All the farmers used barbed wire to keep cows in when he was a kid. When he and his father walked the fields, hunting quail on the days they didn't work at the docks, his father had a way of pushing one wire down with his boot and stretching one up with his hand to create an opening for the boy to crouch through. Once he didn't duck low enough or step high enough, and a rusty barb caught in his collar, another crawled into his calf. His father told him not to move, but he flounced like a mullet in a net. The wire made his back rigid like a second spine pressing in from the outside. He tore from his shirt, pricks of blood warm on his skin in the cold air, the wind blowing on his wounds.
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