Groton, Massachusetts. A friend jokingly pushed me backwards. I tried to keep my balance, but I was standing in front of a wooden, steel-edged mail cart.
The edge of the cart scraped along the edge of my left shin. The skin didn't break, but my first thought when I saw it was that it looked like someone had taken an ice cream scoop and scooped a chunk of flesh out and moved it farther up my leg.
There is still a faintly visible indentation of darker skin against the bone of my left shin.
