And Then...
OK, so you're barreling along, dig? Making good time. Smooth. Everything is moving with you, getting out of your way when you need it to, giving a bit of glam and flash to your edges, a big assist from the Universe. With me? Right on.
Then: a big old pile of bricks on your head, man. Like an even hundredweight at least, maybe more. Splits your cranium wide open, and all that glam and flash flees into a storm drain.
So you're lying there, surrounded by broken pieces of red masonry, and this bird--real fly--walks up and sits down on the curb next to you, looking at your big mess and your bricks and your split head. And so you try to give her the old Hey Babe, you know, but you've got a piece of skull lodged in your speech center, so you give her the old Heyuh Flaboo Zuzzich? instead.
But this babe just smiles and says, "He was like that when I found him. Honest."
Universe ain't got no kindness at all, sometimes, no kindness at all.
