Friday, May 16, 2003

I cross the street, not

I cross the street, not at the marked crosswalk, but from one corner to the opposite corner, with the lights in my favor. I let a car turn left in front of me and then cross the empty road in safety.  Another car, travelling parallel, slows to a crawl beside me.  An older american sedan, mustylooking; he honks, rolls down his window; I pull off my headphones.  He thrusts his pink face out the window into the night toward me, wispy silver hair and a polo shirt framing his expression of concern: “Be careful,” he tells me.  He veers close to the curb as he stares me down.  As he drives on, speeding up marginally, I notice that his headlights and taillights are off.