Last night: I was in the office of a new drycleaning business. They required customers to write down all of their information, including emergency contact info. I was a little perplexed, but then they also gave you a stack of interesting brochures for being a customer. One brochure was titled Outlaw Planet, but when I looked again, it read Outlaw Street.
Pat was with me and I asked him what his cell phone number was, because I was putting him down as my emergency contact. He told me, 1-800-TREE-2.
Two nights ago: I had fallen on some glass and somehow a piece of glass had lodged under the skin near my right hipbone, though there was no torn skin. I could just feel the hard nub of glass under my skin, and I kept touching it with my finger. Someone was supposed to help me remove it, but no one ever did.
