So far Trestle Glen, to my surprise, isn’t agreeing with me. It’s a beautiful neighborhood, but I seem to have quite literally gotten off on the wrong foot. At least I think that’s what happened. All I know is that one minute I was walking along a crumbly section of sidewalk, and the next I was on my hands and knees—mostly knees—trying to look like I meant to do that.
I wasn’t seriously hurt. I just needed some Neosporin when I got home. I may have just turned 39, but I have the knees—or at least the Band-Aids--of an eight-year-old.
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