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Summary
“He’s not going to come back,” I heard him the first time and I almost knocked out his front teeth when I punched him so hard he needed a few seconds to gather his thoughts before we silently drove to the hospital to have it checked. He had a slight concussion, the doctor had told him, came away with a couple of pills and a strict instruction to stay in bed until the bruise turns yellowish instead of the blaring violet blue. Francis phoned me later in the day to tell me his teeth were still stuck to his gums, I responded by hanging up the call.