By Effy Redman

November 26, 2017

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It's late morning on a balmy September day. I try to summon the will to run

from the bench where I'm sitting on Broadway and dive under the massive

wheels of one of the trucks roaring past. Which section of my body, I

wonder, should I hurl beneath the tires. Where would hurt the least, and

soonest erase my suffering. I clutch my cellphone, hating its potential for

rescue signals.