Austin Traffic Report

I'm in the car with my friend, Walker, and...Disaster strikes!
thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
There's a bolt in my tire. A big. Fat. Quarter-inch bolt.

We get his car and he begins to follow me in his car to get my tire repaired; Walker calls me on my cell phone, and...Disaster strikes!
ring-ring-ring-groan-groan-ache-moan.
There is a mysterious pain in my friend's stomach. A sharp. Mysterious. Unpleasant pain.

We drop his car off into a random parking lot and I take my groan-groan-groaning friend in my thump-thump-thumping car to a clinic to have it checked out.

Fifty dollars later, we're on our way again, and...Disaster strikes!
thump-thump-thump-hisssssssssss-rumble-rumble-rumble.
I roll over to the side of the road. My tire is flat. There's a hole the size of a pencil in it left by the 'Big. Fat. Quarter-inch bolt.'

Walker, one perscription drug strong, changes my tire for me. I'm too weak to even turn the bolts, so I wobble about on the uneven ground in my strappy high heels and take pictures. (This was an after work adventure.)

Note to self: Keep a change of shoes in the car, along with a flashlight, and hand wipes.