Thursday, September 25, 2008

Where I'm Writing From

A bus via a car. That's my commute these days. I dislocated my shoulder again. Holy fuck that hurts. I super manned up tho. Told the doc I didn't want meds. Just put it back in. I have to go. I can't waste time in the ER. I gotta get home before this kid wakes up and unleashes her fury on being taken to such a wholly un-fun place as this.

So I couldn't ride. Not sure I still can but I'm going to next week. I have most of my mobility back but my arm is a little Tyrannosaur arm. It's there, but it's feeble and weak. I just need it to steady the handle bar and that's about it.

My point of this post was just to post and not be dead. I was hoping it would be a nice post but I know that the Robot got pulled over (AGAIN) this morning so his story is going to trump the hell out of mine. His tale of being stuffed into a police cruiser trunk and driven out to Quincey and hung out by his ankles over a quarry and made to give up his gang. Of course he wouldn't talk. So they dropped him and he had to hide below the surface and play dead. Luckily he found an air pocket in an old submerged refrigerator. So he waited till the air was gone and swam up to the surface and climbed out of the quarry and rode back to Boston to make a 10am meeting. It's a great tale. You'll love it.

1 comment:

Da Robot said...

By "dislocated shoulder" you mean "hangnail," right?