12 hours from now, I will be suffering from 皮肉之痛! On the impending surgery which will mark a remarkable comeback for my once crippled-beyond-a-flicker-of-a-doubt right hand, I wish myself great luck. I would have gladly accepted the fact that the metal screws will stay in me forever. Even though that will mean I can never crack those knuckles again. Even though the metallic part of me will create eternal problems at the customs. I am damn proud of these screws. My right fist looks mean and full of menace. It smells powerful and feels capable of punching the living hell of any punk. It makes me feel special, invincible, X-rated, super, super X-rated, etc. I hope the doctor will let me keep the screws. Then I will hang it round my neck and show it to my friends. But first I have to overcome the dreaded excruciating pain that comes with prying open the skin to remove something that is so embedded within the flesh. Ouch! Wish me well!