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I broke my foot almost three weeks ago. It was the basement of a former-bank-turned-community-center as my right ankle rotated in such a way that I heard a loud SNAP as I rolled it off the DDR pad.

It hurt like fuck, but for the first few hours I'd thought it was only a twisted ankle. The next day my foot was swolen and bruised.

Urgent Care didn't have any available appointments for the day, Sunday. I wasn't about to wait another day, either. The ER sent me home with an instant splint made of a water activated plastic sheet bent to shape, held on by a kind of pink elastic fabric tape that stuck to itself surprisingly well.

Last week was my real orthopedic surgeon visit. I got scanned again and given a plastic boot to replace the splint that wasn't doing too well and staying in place.

My next visit is next week. I expect to learn it healed wrong.

The decreased mobility has given me another fresh perspective of the city. I've gotten hurt before, but I must admit: this is my first broken bone of my life. The ER supplied me with a pair of axial crutches; the kind that go under your armpits but not *in* your armpits. They are actually a form of torture. I quickly ordered a pair of forearm crutches. Those are the ones with the cuffs that wrap around your forearm.

As it turns out, hills suck. Cars suck even more. Difficult to count the number of times I've had some genius automobile operator slowly creep towards me in the crosswalk, as though their threat to break my bones isn't the first thing on my mind.

One day we'll ban the cars, and I'll still have to walk as far but if I fell down I wouldn't die under some wheelwell.

1/10 would not break again.

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