By: Callie Sacarelos
Nate Janke hoisted himself off the ground in his downtown Minneapolis apartment with an orange rope attached to a theater rig.
One end of the rope ran through holes in the contraption. The other weaved through two wishbone-shaped metal hooks nested under his skin, just inside his upper shoulder blades.
A single line of blood trickled down his spine from one tattoo to the next. The hardware slowly moved together as his skin loosened, until the hooks nearly touched.