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The Miracle Cure Sick with the clotted minutia of a Monday-fearing Sunday afternoon, I ran restless and feverish into a deli and was miraculously cured by the slow, unswerving push of an old Italian nonna’s arms on a greasy, silver meat slicer. Seventeen minutes and a swallow of forgotten humanity later, I carried the sandwiches and her unhurried smile out through the swinging doors, whistling like a carnival of dolphins. |
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