The last thing I could remember, I was thrown forward through the windshield. Then everything went black.

That morning had gone by in a blur. I’d stopped by the coffee shop on 37th Street, widely renowned as the worst coffee spot in the district but which was used by everyone because they were too lazy and gas prices were too high to drive to the other, better coffee place 5 blocks away.

I had bought my usual, a grande chocolate chip mocha chilled coffee with lowfat whipped cream. No, that’s not a weird order. And yes, I am a guy.

My coffee tasted weird that day. I remember that part very well, because I took a sip, spit it out, and cussed loudly while strangers stared at me and walked away as quickly as they could. I left the shop, not wanting to be banned from yet another coffee shop.

But as I had been walking out of the store, I’d accidentally gotten my foot caught in a little niche in the sidewalk. I tripped, rolled forward three times, and landed smack dab in the middle of the street.