I ran faster.
About a dozen blocks from my apartment, I passed a barbershop with a metal grate on the sidewalk in front. Left foot hit grate. Right foot followed. I lost my balance. Pitched forward.
Later that night, at a birthday party for a friend, I regaled the group with the story of my afternoon. I'd caught my fall, I told them, with my face. I'd risen to find myself covered in blood, bruised, a gash on my lower lip. The glass backing on my phone had shattered, its case flung into the bushes.