For a teenage boy driver, the metal horses they put on subdivision streets are racing gates, allowing you to slalom through the neighborhood. I recall it vividly. But for middle ager on a bike, his head hanging low because the ride is getting long and sweaty, the horses are bad critters. I ploughed into one the other day and went airborne, slo-mo, reconsidering my many faults, and landed with a crunch on my shoulder.
A broken collarbone, the left clavicle. On the x-ray it looked like a busted branch. May need surgery, but in the meantime I'm in a sling, looking like a kind of disabled vet. I tried to spruce up the sling by using a madras necktie, but it looked a little crazy. Like I really didn't know what to do with a tie, and so used it to hold up an arm.
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