Diary of a Gimp

When you're ambling about town with a clunky orthopedic boot on your leg, baby, it's open season. You're a target for every old lady on the bus who wants to recap her catalog of historical complaints and offer unsolicited advice on how what you ought to do is get a rich man to marry you, is what you ought to do.

Also, homeless people have stopped asking me for money; perhaps some sort of infirm solidarity?