Road rash
◊ So I'm cruising along at ten, fifteen thousand miles an hour on my bike when the little strut holding my bike rack up comes loose and gets lodged between the spokes on the rear wheel. The bike stops. I keep going. I soar over the handlebars, land hard on my back and shoulder, roll, and skid to a stop on my chest. I hop to my feet, kick my bike hard, and assess the damage.
One of the rims on my bike is fucked up. I scraped one knee and my shoulder, and it feels like someone punched me in the chest. My back hurts and my dignity is wounded, possibly beyond repair.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Funny how you don't notice your knees until they're screaming in agony. I'd better get some decent bruises out of this.
Hmmmm. I think the adrenaline from the fall is making me horny. And the best way to deal with that is ... sit around by myself, drinking! Yay!
Someone please get me a life for my birthday.
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