My WideEyedBrokenArm and I stumbled through San Francisco last week. We presented research findings. We learned about other people’s new research. We fumbled through botched handshake attempts and embarrassing dropsies of all kinds. Then, the Stealth Cast and I went out into the world. (The bone doc says a black cast is a Stealth Cast because of its Ninja-like invisibility. The eye slides across it. Sort of.) I slung my good arm around an outside pole on the Powell-Hyde trolley car line and wing-dinged my way across Nob Hill, Russian Hill, Chinatown to Fisherman’s Wharf. I could feel the wind of our passage blowing through the fiberglass of my Stealth Cast as it dangled in the open space of the city streets. The trolley driver rolled his eyes at me and kept yelling for me to “Hold on!” I held on even though my knees got weak when the Golden Gate Bridge loomed over the city next to us. Even when the curviest street in the city went by. Even when I saw San Francisco Bay …