Drawn and Quartered.

It was one of those days. A particularly foul day.

My concussion had blossomed into a full-on migraine. The dull throb turned sharp every time I opened my mouth. A vexing irritant for someone like myself.

Downtown parking was a fiasco. Garage traffic inched along like a funeral procession. A eulogy of horns mourned my former lack of mobility. Construction thwarted my feeble attempt to acquire Voodoo doughnuts for my loved ones. Downtown's parting gift: a nail embedded snugly in my back-left tire. A delightful souvenir of my day.

My patience reservoirs were completely dry. A situation only sleep could remedy.

The next morning, not feeling substantially better, I set off to Les Schwab to assess the damages. Financially and existentially I expected the worst.

The cost: free and a simple request to remember them the next time I purchased tires.

All of the corrosive cynicism of the day before washed away. I would have cried if the store manager hadn't met my blank amazement with such nonchalant stoicism.

I drove off to the mall to get fitted for my tuxedo. I found a parking spot immediately.

It was one of those days. A particularly good day.