Friday night it's raining cats and dogs and I miss my bus stop because I'm watching the water slicks like pavement mirrors revealing my city upside down. It's cold and I'm missing the eight inches I cut off my head the night before. All my hair now fits under a thin hoodie and a collapsible umbrella. The jeans over my shins get wetter each time I take a step; my saturated flipflops give the sensation of wearing flippers through the streets. I see a bright spot ahead, a cute/geeky boy surrounded by his cute/geeky friends, and I make eye contact through a gauze veil of rain. As I pass him, smiling, one flipflop loses grip in a puddle and I wipe out in a heap of neither-cute-nor-geeky human squalor. While flailing downward, I manage to punch my intended in the thigh. As he peels me off the street he asks, "Are you okay? and I ask, "Are you okay?" and his weird/dorky friends wince as he rubs his thigh and I rub my thigh. Then we all walk back into the deep, thick night.