Ow, f**k, ow.

The city was deserted this weekend.

Which meant an absolutely blissful three days, watching Narnia and Indy matinees, drinking mocha frappuchinos at B&N, reading bits of authors I’m ashamed to say I’ve never picked up before, like Robert Jordan, as well as old favorites like CJ Cherryh, and drawing to my heart’s content (which I normally can’t do at B&N, because the crowded tables mean no room to move elbows or set up reference images). Three days of utter, peaceful awesomeness. I feel replete.

The only snag, literally, was that I was looking up at the buildings instead of watching where I was going on Monday afternoon, and hit a massive crack in the sidewalk. Since I had a slick paperback in one hand, this meant that when I hit the ground, my hands kept going. My knees, cheek and one hand got rubbed pretty raw and bruised purple, and my dominant hand, the one holding the paperback, is kind of hamburger. Which means doing everything one-handed with my off hand for the next week. Grrr.

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