On my way down Troost this morning, the KCUR commentator interviewed a playright at the bus stop in front of Operation Breakthrough at 31st and Troost. I smiled as I cruised past that very spot.
I like Troost Avenue. It takes me downtown on a clean clear shot, and dumps me right at the turn to Oak street, from which I can easily navigate two more blocks to the only available handicapped parking adjacent to the courthouse.
My mind hummed as I cruised toward downtown, but my eyes remained alert, my hands on the steering wheel. I saw the SUV run the stop sign at 27th street a split second before I entered the intersection doing 4 miles per hour below the speed limit. I’m not known for my quick reflexes but I jerked the Prius’s steering wheel and swerved into the clear oncoming lane, making a wide turn, eyeballing the driver of the SUV who did not slow, did not stop, did not even have the grace to look panicked.
I made it. I crossed myself as I slowed to right my vehicle. I crawled to a stop and the little Kia behind me pulled alongside and did likewise. I saw its driver’s window lowering, so I turned off the news and rolled down my passenger window. I saw that, the man said. It’s shameful, how could he just run that stop sign? I am so glad you pulled it out. I thanked him. He told me, Have a blessed day, and I wished the same for him. I’m counting that close call as a good sign that my guardian angel is on duty.
It’s the twenty-seventh day of the thirty-first month of My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining. By the grace of all things divine and the goodwill of the Universe, life — for me, for the clueless driver of a black SUV, and I hope for you — continues.