C swears he doesn’t know who attacked him. He has a fairly dubious story that involves ‘minding his own business’ and ‘some guy I never even seen before’ that he relays to me as I am preparing to stitch up his face.
He is younger than me by a few years and full of the bravado of youth, testosterone and alcohol. He looks a bit nervous as I lay out my suturing gear and glove up, but he tries to act cool and talks to me about the various places I should go out while I am in Geelong. When he catches sight of the lignocaine, however, he falls silent and starts to look a little bit pale.
C has already lost a few teeth this morning and he has a face like Rocky at the end of the movie of the same name. Given how well he seems to have coped with what we can safely assume was a full-blown arse-kicking, his apparent needle-phobia is almost hilarious.
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