Sometimes, Friday the 13th is actually unlucky.
This is not my car:
It’s the scene in the parking lot from Friday evening as we grabbed an unhealthy dinner at the BK Steakhouse on Washington Street in Roslindale.
This is my car:
Around 3:30am Saturday (the 14th) morning, some clown in a white Chevy Impala (based on the fender he left behind) crossed our street and slammed into my car, driving it back about three feet and placing it neatly on the curb. We woke up and investigated in time to scare off the guy returning to claim his fender, but were unable to get a license plate number. I went back to bed and finally fell asleep–only to be awakened by my neighbor at 6:30am telling me about the car. I had slept through my alarm clock that normally gets me up in time to meet up with my Saturday running club in Westwood. I was glad to be re-awakened in time to do our weekly run.
Three miles into the run, along the crubly-paved Thatcher Street, I drifted a bit too far to the edge of the pavement, twisted my ankle, and did an 8mph face-plant on the asphalt. Fortunately, my shoulder,arm, hand, chest, and knee absorbed the fall, and I had friends around to get me up and back to the high school parking lot.
I think, perhaps, I should not cut that tree down I blogged about earlier in the day…
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