Another moment in time.

**Flashback**

It is November, 2006. It's Friday, and I'm chillin. I have to be at work at four, and I decide to make an Amoeba run. I find the LP I"m looking for, a cute boy rings me up at the register and we talk music, blahblahblah. I jump on my bike, I'm coastinnn..... until I stop. cRaSh. SpLaT. sMeAr. TATTOO.

I lift my head, and see the small but significant rouge waterfall spewing past my eyes. Yup, my face was gushing. Someone had the audacity to ask "OMG are you OK?" I know that is the universal phrase of concern, but really? My fucking face is gushing with blood bitch, no, no I'm not OK. Ten hours and 37 stitches to the face later, I still wasn't OK. And I wasn't OK for about a year, until my face healed.

And now I sit here, on my fucking couch, again. Another bike accident in the books.

The awkward thing about bike accidents, is that there is not protocol, or code of conduct for them. We don't have the protection like insurance for auto-drivers, and in the moment, you barely exchange names. You get up (if you can), dust your self off, check if the other is OK (the least you can do), and if possible, ride on. The reality is my calf is swollen with a bruise the size of a grapefruit, and numerous other bruises on my pretty little stems. I also need to get new handlebars, and another basket.

This makes my affection for biking more of a love/hate relationship. For something that I love and love to do so much, it has supplied my life with much strife.

Gotta run crew, my chariot awaits a bike surgeon. Ciao for now.