Yesterday, during the course of my official duties, I ripped my pants. At the seams. Practically, from stem to stern. Which is not all that interesting, really. I mean, I don't wear good clothes to work because I know that they'll get destroyed. But later I noticed that my fly was open and it wasn't because I had forgotten to zip myself, it was because my zipper was broken.
I spend five hours on my feet and I wasn't trying to hide. So someone must have noticed something. But, no one mentioned it. That's what was really strange.

Apparently, I had a leak in one of my tires and it needed constant filling with air. It seems that at some point last week, while I was on my way to work, I ran over a small child and that child was very pointy.

Anyway, there's a Walmart that opened not too long ago near 95th and Western, outside the jurisdiction of the People's Republic of Chicago. Now, you may correctly guess that I am one of those opposed to Walmart's business practices. But, it seems to me there is little harm in servicing my vehicle there. However, much to my surprise, their auto service facillity was staffed entirely by Chinese baby slaves. But hey, what a bargain!