I walked with a hobble down Danforth Street in Portland, Maine. It was around fifty degrees, and the air had a chill to it. There was nothing going on that I could see, and the night seemed extra quiet. Still, as is my habit since I don’t trust people, I kept looking behind me to see if I was being shadowed. I could never quite shake that feeling. Nobody there, of course. Better safe than sorry, though. My right foot had something wrong with it. A bone that was out of place, a cramp…something. Whatever it was – it made me limp along. I didn’t pay much attention to it. It would walk itself out. That’s how foot things usually worked, right? After a…