The mean streets of Chicago finally got me a few weeks ago on my way to work. The skinned knee was the only physical damage, but the old pride was in traction for a couple days. No one hit me. It wasn't slippery. I just fell off my bike for an audience of fancy people in their fancy cars waiting to get into the Mercedes Benz dealership service entrance. I was uprighted and whisked into the showroom bathroom to clean up the blood and dirt and given a teeny little band-aid by a teeny little mechanic. And off I went to work to complain about the ordeal all day long.
