Yesterday I left work tired but happy, ready for another attempt at light board mastery. Now, crossing Washington Street in the South End is a perilous task at any time, but especially during evening rush hour, when a day's worth of frustration is pent up inside the already bad drivers of Boston. When crossing a main thoroughfare in Boston one should look both ways about ten times and then, if possible, wave a large safety-orange flag to catch drivers' attention as you cross. (Now there are many pedestrians who cross willy nilly, but I always use the crosswalk, because then I have the right-of-way and the law on my side.)
I stepped into the crosswalk; there were cars off in the distance, far enough away so that I could safely cross or at least they have plenty of time to slow down for me and the other pedestrians. About half way across this four-lane street (with no median strip) I noticed a car speeding towards me, making no effort to slow down. I had let down my guard for one millisecond, taken the "don't you dare hit me" glare off my face for one millisecond, and this car came barreling down upon me.
"Holy Mary...." a string of expletives came out of me that I care not to repeat here, as I sprinted out of the lane.
The moral: never ever stop giving oncoming traffic the steely-eyed "don't you dare" stare.
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