1. I might really be injured here; and
2. Could the light please change so witnesses could go somewhere else and laugh?
So now I’m a plastic-wrapped grandmother in a row of geraniums and a pelting rain, hoping witnesses don’t crash their cars and further delay my arrival at the farmers market. I got up in a series of dumb maneuvers that would embarrass every dance teacher I ever studied with and walked my bicycle to the corner and crossed the street. I waited for the light to change and crossed another street. Then I sailed down a long hill with draining water spitting in my face and knew I was actually okay.