Damn, I love writing….

Damn, I love writing. Why don't I do this all the time? New paragraph:

"Ravi turns the corner, and the wind shifts, shoving him forward, so that he slips on the ice and slams down. Hands in his pockets mean that Ravi has no chance to catch himself, and so he lands, bone-jarring, on one hip and elbow. The pain is so sharp that for a moment, he thinks he has broken something. Ravi sucks in his breath at the impact, and swallows hard against the desire to swear, to scream. Sometimes Ravi thinks that if he started screaming, he wouldn�t stop. Sometimes he wants to just hurl his rage against the sky, flail about with swinging fists until he hits something, anything."

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