Today something horrible that I've been dreading happening every day since July finally happened.
Alright that sentence was a bit too dramatic. But every day I carry my giant cruiser bike up a flight of stairs to my apartment with the left handlebar gently pressing the thought of impeding decapitation against my neck. There are twenty steps and I can't see them but I count them out loud slowly, cheering silently after each one I don't slip on.
Really it's a miracle nothing happened until today when I finally ate it on step twelve, and fell all the way down and busted my lip open on the handlebars.
The good thing about something happening that you worried about forever is that you realize it isn't all that bad. That's the worst you can do? Bring it on, universe.
And the cuts make me look like a rockstar. Do rockstars have bloody lips? Maybe from smashing guitars around and accidentally hitting themselves in the face. I've lost too much blood to really analyze this right now.
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