Breaking Bad

Picture the scene: late winter Saturday evening. The company of good friends. Delicious Italian dinner. A breathtaking balletic move where I face-plant on the sidewalk! Splat! My husband and friends picking me up off the pavement. I’m dazed, have no idea what just happened, bleeding profusely from my nose but I’m worried about my new coat. Did I get any blood on it, I ask? They’re whisking me along, back to their apartment so they can assess the damage. I’m giggling and mumbling, asking them why am I bleeding?  



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