ABSTRACT
The main scar ran from north to south far off the Prime Meridian. It had been first cut back at General, its careful geography etched into flesh by Doctor Mizrahi’s blade. The second, third, fourth, fifth, and now sixth scars occupied identical terrain; they were laid one on top of the other, like burial grounds on bedrock and silt below that. It helped him to think of them as separate scars, distinct in their timing, the final product—up to this point—a palimpsest of clinical trauma and surgical precision. He wondered how things looked beneath: did the tissue and muscle, the vessels and veins, line up in careful deference to that trajectory? Did they know or feel that there would be more entrances and exits through the wound? Did they care?
