Should I be grateful it isn't the thirteenth as well?
This morning, for the first time this week, I believe, I made the 6.30 AM bus. Then when we got to the station the driver actually stopped at the drop-off point to save us from getting mobbed by workers from the biggest supermarket in the country. I even caught a train earlier than usual, the one I see driving off in the distance most days.
I shouldn't have let this fool me, of course, but I did.
Having allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security, I fell flat on my face bounding up the stairs to the train's upper deck. My right calf muscle simply gave way underneath me and the next moment there I was, sprawled out on the floor.
After I had scrambled back up, gathered my pride and my possessions, and found a seat, the conductor stopped by. I discovered I left my train card at home. Fortunately he let me off with a warning to buy a ticket for the next part of my journey. (I meant to do that anyway, as the always check you on that stretch.)
I wonder what's next.