Throwback Thursday: ‘Chipping’ by Jono Naito

He leaned over the dining table and snapped off my pinkie finger. It made a clinking sound, glass on glass, before he pocketed it. I had asked him again to pay attention for a moment, to give an opinion on a change of wallpaper. His eyes were on the laptop on the dining table in between us, a movie. I watched him instead, looking over the cracks in his face, his shattered clavicle, the missing lip. I didn’t take a piece of him back, and just left my hand out for the salt. He passed it over and I fumbled it — different without a pinkie, I guess.