Dear Diary:
As I rode uptown
toward my class, I turned on 105th Street toward Broadway. Without any
warning, my bicycle stopped and I was thrown over the handlebars into
the middle of the street. A carefully disguised pothole had eaten my
front wheel.
I opened my eyes to
see a car stopped a couple of feet in front of me and three people
surrounding me. The two young men urged me to stay still, while the
middle-aged woman loaded my bicycle into her S.U.V. The S.U.V. was
parked at an angle to stop traffic.
I was placed into a cab and rushed to the emergency room. After hours of haze and various castings, I was discharged.
The next month I
worked to meet all my obligations and figure out how to coordinate
various fractures. Eventually, I checked the pockets of the pants I was
wearing during my accident. There was a business card that had written
on it: “Get better soon. You can pick up your bike any time.”
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