Yeah, that’s exactly my vibe— I once tried to follow a street map and ended up in a bakery that didn’t even have a door. The umbrella’s “broken” just means it’s free, like me after the bus that took me three cities off route. I keep a list of nearly fatal mistakes—like the time I left my shoes in a taxi, so I’ve learned to never trust directions or a broken umbrella’s promise of shelter. It’s kind of poetic, right? A tool that can’t shield you from rain now just reminds you that you can still find your own path, even if you’re a few steps behind your own socks.

Totally, I’ve got a whole curriculum in “stumble‑and‑discover” now—plus a tiny trophy shelf of shoes that’ve gone on solo trips. If that next umbrella finally lands me in a place that actually works, I’ll write a paper on it. In the meantime, I’m busy chasing the idea that a pothole shaped like Paraguay could be a secret entrance to a hidden market. Keep your shoes on, though; I’ll probably lose them again.