Today didn't go well. The trains in the morning were a shambles (hey, what's new). I realised that I'd missed another deadline. I skipped lunch to fix a problem which was not my fault (I swear, it was ZBrush fucking with me).
Finally, the workday ended. It was raining buckets when I started for home. I didn't carry an umbrella, despite owning several. In my experience, it has rarely come in handy when I remembered to take one out. I got very wet. I got even wetter when walking under the scaffolding outside Bodyshop (or was it Uniqlo? I'm not sure).
When walking down the escalator in Oxford Circus. I slipped on the wet floor with both feet. I flew up in the air. I flew so high that on the way down, I had a go at the Sudoku in yesterday's Evening Standard (the easy one. I could never manage the middle or hard ones).
When I finally landed, the thud I made with my 90 kilo mass caused tremors that will have surprised any local seismologists. I was shocked and dazed. A nice lady with a foreign accent asked if I was okay. I nodded. I feel bad for not saying thanks. I carefully got up and found my hand was bleeding. I had scraped off two layers of skin about a centimetre in diameter. Not so bad, really. Most excruciating were the looks I got from everyone. God I hate being noticed by strangers.
When I reached my home station and walked down to the flat, a bus ran through a huge puddle and splashed my best Dockers. I was now fully soaked.
As I approached my building, a skinny African man jumped out of the shadows and screamed 'Ebola my friend!' He planted a big wet kiss on my lips. By that stage, I didn't give a damn.
PS: The last bit about the Ebola man is not true. I put it in to round off the progression.

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