My exploits over the past 1.5 years have taken me through rivers and up mountains and on islands unscathed. Only last week in the kitchen of Papa Guille and Mama Nora do I stumble on no apparent obstacle whasoever, fall in slamming fashion into the refridgerator, and impossibly stub my toe on a nearby two-by-four, rendering me toenail-less.
Life sans one left toenail has, remarkably, helped me fit in with my many friends and confidants who were marked at birth with disfigurements and have been waiting for converts like me all their lives: Atoy the six fingered man (twelve, actually, when you count both hands), Oming with the impressive underbite, Jaybert with the ears that stick out, Apron White Hair, and of course Joe with the one big leg.
I was warned by The Organization that, try as I might, it would be impossible to truly become “one” of the people. Hah! Take a look at THIS, will you. Integration, I have come:
The picture doesn't do it justice.
