As for stories, mine is a story. I haven't told a story in a long time. Maybe I should; good for the imagination. I will dream on that!!
Here's a short quip:
In Kabul, Afghanistan, I was with my friend at a bazaar looking for "Kabul coats", very fine textiles of leather and elaborate designs woven into the leather. At this time, I was looking at a crafted knife at one of the booths. I opened it to see the blade. Suddenly, it snapped back and hit my finger: I fainted from the fear of cutting myself. I was on the ground and others helped me back up. It also was high altitude, in the mountains, typical of Kabul.
The lesson was, don't play with knives carelessly.
I wish I had learned my lesson. Almost ten years later, at a restaurant where I was working, I thought I would cut the lettuce in the sink with a knife by just flicking my wrist. Whoa!!! I just sliced a part of my left forefinger, not the bone, luckily. The manager took my finger and squeezed it to see the damage.
Another lesson, don't play with knives.
Yes, I am slow, but determined to retain my lessons.
Which neither space nor time touches.