Scraped up.

D and I went to Turtle Tower for dinner tonight.  I like the one in the Richmond because it's easy to get a table, there's an ice cream shop two blocks down for after dinner, and it's the cleanest one in the city.  (D thinks it also tastes the best, but all the locations taste the same to me.)  It was perfect because I was feeling kind of down, so not in any kind of mood to fight crowds or yell in a crowded restaurant; and also D was starving, and the food always comes fast at pho places.

We were quiet as we ate our noodles, but afterwards he told me a funny story from his run this afternoon.  He was running near the warming hut on Crissy Field, which sits by the water just east of the foot of the Golden Gate (which means it's almost always fogged in at this time of year), where he spotted a kid about eight or nine years old on a bike ahead of him.  As he watched, the kid wiped out and landed on the ground.

"I went over and helped him up - oh, he was fine, he just had a scraped-up knee.  So I asked where his mom was" -- here, I imagined the kid looking back down the road into the fog and realizing he was alone with his bloody knee -- "she was somewhere way back - and then he started crying.  I mean, it was pretty scraped up but I was like, ahh" -- D made a pffft face -- "I've done that to myself like, ten times.  You can show that to your friends later and tell them they're wusses.  Yeah, he was fine but it was the kind of thing you can show off.  So he stopped crying and I walked him back to his mom."

I'd like to see D as a dad (again), someday.