It's been too long since I fell on my ass...

Babs is working it this morning channeling Sheena Easton strutting her stuff up to the Metro platform.

Inner dialogue goes something like this... "Clown paint?  check. Hair bumped? check. Rockin' behind the super dark Jackie O's? check. Lacy coffin gloves? check.  You know what skinny bitch?...this Miami gig just might work out cuz there ain't no place in the contiguous US that you could rock this ghetto-fab leopard print coat and nary raise an eyebrow. You could be sportin' a pith helmet, a boa, have purple hair, an 'I Dream of Jeanie' harem ensemble, and nobody would even do a double take...hey maybe this is where you belong?..."

Then... "ouch, kerplunk" I have once again very publicly fallen, while taking a short cut to the train, cuz... guess what? I'm running late... Meanwhile nary a Miamian offers to assist this damn damsel in distress, or enquire as to my well being as they continue to walk over or sidestep me enroute to the Metro. Dust myself off, assess the damage.

"Waaah I want my mother... oh right she's dead." Inner dialogue resumes.. "Where was I? Oh, indeed.. I think this is where I belong."