I had this nagging in the back of my legs.

My friend was eaten alive by this bacteria . His legs, his arms were eaten, his intestines were eaten. His colon was eaten before he died. This is not a frivolous situation.

When sleep leaves the body like smoke and man, sated with secrets, drives the overworked nag of quarrel out of its stall, then the fire-breathing union begins anew . . .

I keep going over a sentence. I nag it, gnaw it, pat and flatter it.

Nagging is the repetition of unpalatable truths.

I have always remembered that he could run like a deer. With those long legs, he can sprint and run the floor. Over the year, he has gotten more physical and he has let his presence be felt.