There I was, in one of those cramped, portable-style restrooms at work, taking a moment of peace on the toilet. The air was stale, the hum of fluorescent lights droning overhead. As I sat there, I reached into my pocket, pulling out my bubble and a chunk of crystal. It was supposed to be a quick pack, something to get me through the day.

But fate had other plans.

The shard slipped from my fingers, tumbling through the air in slow motion, its sparkle catching the light for just a split second. I watched, helpless, as it fell between my legs, destined for the depths of the toilet bowl. My heart sank—it was gone, lost to the abyss.

But then, something miraculous happened.

Instead of vanishing beneath the water, it landed—just barely—on the edge of the toilet seat. A mere quarter of an inch from disaster. I couldn't believe it. The universe had spared me, for reasons unknown. In that moment, it felt as if the skies cleared, the weight of the world lifted, and balance was restored. Crisis averted. The streets, unseen but felt, filled with joy. All was right again.