I'd like to think that my actions are purposeful, but my friends would tell you that I'm heavy handed. Apparently I knock on the door like a debt collector, I use the light pull in the bathroom like I'm trying to climb it, and I put the iron onto the garment like I'm stamping a passport.
I was leaving a café where the door had been shut tight against the wind, the door opens inward. I opened the door briskly and to my surprise there was a small child attached to the outside handle. He'd reached above his head to grab it just as I opened the door and was whisked off his feet and thrown into the café. He flew gracefully at first, like an immature super-hero but he landed in a crying crumpled heap.
Richard "I'd make an excellent father" B
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