He dropped the jar. It shattered on the kitchen floor.
Pickles spilled everywhere. Overwhelmed, he began to cry. His hands were stiff
and pained. The side effects of the medications were burdensome. And they did
little to relieve the pain.
Now, he could barely move his fingers. And yet somehow he
was going to have to clean up the shards of glass that had scattered about.
After that, he would need to clean up the juice and pick up the pickles. He
walked gingerly to the paper towels and grasped them between stiff hands, as he
imagined a walrus would.
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