Close call

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.


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