As we broke up (and I swear, after no more than three glasses of wine) I offered to walk L, one of our vendor/consultant types, whom I quite like, to the Jack London Square Amtrak station — I mean, it's one of the routes I'd be likely to take home anyway (albeit rolling and not on foot) and it's a chance to spend some more time with somebody I like, so why not?
As we were walking along 7th Street, approaching the corner crossing towards the Salvation Army store, there were a bunch of police cars with their lights flashing, and a fire engine, and an ambulance, and all sorts of stuff. We looked over at it as we kept walking, me wheeling my bike, having a conversation about "well, the EMTs's body language looks fairly relaxed, so—"
Next thing I know I'm standing on the sidewalk next to a lamppost pressing a bloody tissue to my cheek while L is grabbing a Band-Aid out of her purse.
L made her train, and I made it home with no further blood. When I emailed to say I'd made it home safe & sound, she offered to back me up on any story I wanted to make up about us fighting off weirdos trying to steal our lunch money. Helluva gal, L. *grin*
I think I'm going to feed the cats, have a bite, and go to bed early.