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I stopped cutting my nails about four years ago.
When you start getting older, they just don’t grow anymore.
Or maybe they don’t bother you the same way since you’re not using your hands often anyway. Either way, her request for a nail clipper was such a simple one–yet I had to dig in tiny mahogany drawers for several minutes before I could unearth a small pair–rusted around the crescent edge. Slightly ashamed of its state, it took me a few seconds to drop them into a waiting palm.
She thanked me, walked silently to the kitchen.

Clip. Clip clip clip.

Shedding dead parts of herself onto the linoleum floor.