Fault. It is so common a word. Used by so many to allay the suspicion that they are truly the ones responsible. And who am I? I am no different.

My leg moved as if in a dream, gliding through time and space like it was made of water, no jelly, no gravity. It moved, ever so slowly towards a destination that I couldn't help but be brought to. Call it fate, call it fault call it whatever you will but in the end that is where I ended up. One foot in the street and another on the sidewalk. The bus that lifted me into the air, amid screams and horns blaring, was filled with denizens of a faultless city. A city unwilling to say "Hey, it was me. I pushed him. I hit him. I am responsible." they just stared and whispered and pointed fingers at everyone but themselves. And so did I. Was it my fault I stepped too far? Yes. Was it the bus drivers fault that he was more engrossed in the ass of a young woman swaying along the sidewalk? Yes.
In any case I'm lying here now, in debt. And at fault.