Just pulling out from the Stater Bros. parking lot met me with a dirty black Ford Expedition, almost side-swiping my driver’s side door as its suspension leaned toward me from the velocity. The incident caught the attention of most in the parking lot, who gazed at me, as though victimized, agape. Accidents rarely happen in isolation pulling this much of a reaction, and I soon realized the expanse of road the driver endangered was larger than I thought. A left turn into Washington, and I passed him again. The very feat he had just accomplished, of making a desire path around a stopped intersection, had rendered me thoughtless to the timing mechanics he must have pulled. This time, a rear tire had blown, scattering radial rubber all over the road, grinding on the blacktop as he vanished out of sight. I straddled piles of broken glass in the street. Vehicles stopped; people hopped out of their cars. At a gingerly speed, I realized the wreckage from which he drew. A chain link fence was mangled, a wooden fence destroyed, and a stone mailbox crumbled. Familes stepped out into their sullied front yards and held their hands to their head.
- hectorfourteen posted this