In a Fingernail

When I was 9 years old, my uncle Kerry paid me in cheeseburgers to clean this traditional medicine used in Native American ceremonies. After an hour of picking the small bits of fur with my fingernails, I started to complain about it getting under my fingernails. My uncle took my little hand, held it up to my face and pointed to the green caked fingernail. “This medicine can take you anywhere your heart desires. Even all over the world – anywhere! If you really want it.”, he exclaimed. Continue reading

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