We all have them, and behind each one is a story – sad, funny, wildly insane.
Some of mine have faded, though the ache returns like a phantom, and others still look gnarly like a rotted plum slimed across my skin.
Then there are some, I couldn’t really tell you what happened whether because they weren’t traumatic enough or the tequila threatened silence.
But all of them have strengthened my ep…
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