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Luther thought back to when he still had his legs and hated himself for being so unappreciative. Stairs. His motorcycle. Regular shoes. They had given him prosthetic legs and he had dutifully learned how to use them, but they hurt and were awkward and he couldn't wear any of his old shoes. At least, he thought, my feet will never smell. At that, he burst into laughter that turned into tears, and the old people in the park stared at the crazy cripple.