The scar shown is from my broken front tooth (Bit through from the inside out! Ew!) An excerpt from an email I sent a friend a week after the accident: It happened on the Mayo Bridge. I was biking with Aaron. As you may know (maybe not) part of the bridge consists of metal plates all the way across, covering some kind of abyss through which the flood wall sometimes runs. Well, on this fateful night, two of the metal plates were about six inches apart, and I looked down just in time to see that I was totally fucked: my front tire went in. I went over the handlebars, smashed my face into Hull Street, and blacked out for just a second. I woke up quickly, frantic, and ran to the curb, where I sat and began crying like the newborn I felt I was. "I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING TEETH," I yelled between sobs, repeating myself and stuffing my hands into my mouth, trying to locate and smother the monumental pain that couldn't possibly fit in there. Aaron couldn't see where I was bleeding from because I was hiding it; he gave me his bandanna which I then stuffed in my mouth. An ambulance came. The story goes on.
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