Actually the last one is a subject I do understand. About a year ago I tripped, violently, in public. I wasn't lonesome for long...I was quickly surrounded by people watching blood gush from my knee, nose and forehead.I think my Dad used to wear short sleeved shirts with ties to go to work in the city, back in the day.
Every time I've ever tripped or fallen in public I've sobbed.
I fell in a really bad neighborhood the other day (I was there for work) and a prostitute helped me up. "Honey, you don't want to just lay down there! That street is dirty, there might be needles!"Then the drug dealers across the street were all "miss, you okay? Don't let that nasty skank touch you. You might could get AIDSAlso, I'm with you on the waiters. The only thing worse is when they ask if you've ever been there. As if you don't know how to use a restaurant.
Lora you should start your autobiography with this sentence: "I fell in a really bad neighborhood the other day and a prostitute helped me up."
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