Monday, July 23, 2012

Car crash

I'm walking home, enjoying the pale winter sunshine. Headphones on, enjoying the latest ECB podcast. I cross King William Street at the usual spot and proceed up to the Gilbert Street corner, just across from the old Brecknock (lying, soulless bastards).
Parklands, suburbs, home. Not long now.
I punch the pedestrian button and then look east to see if I can go early. No chance, there's a shiny white car hurtling towards me. I look back south towards where I am headed. What's this, another car entering the intersection? A shiny BMW. One of these two drivers has obviously not seen the red light. Oh dear. Immediately I am awake to the situation - an imminent vehicular altercation - but providence will play a greater role than anticipation & agility here.
The cars collide at speed. As luck would have it, both cars turn my way once they have smashed into each other, perhaps looking for a genuine kill. This is what I get for swearing so much. Should I have worn my brown trousers?
I'm standing there, looking, ready to leap into the air to avoid being offed. Just like Bruce Lee would. The white car smashes into the pedestrian light eight feet away from me and it pole-axes the innocent structure into the ground. The Beemer comes to rest about six feet in front of me. There's petrol, coolant, and bits of car everywhere.
The area is suddenly filled with people. People wanting to help, those who are curious, and a gaggle of cocksure boys with terrible hair and poorly-fitting suits wanting to take iPhone snaps. I just stand there. I eventually help one of the drivers to a safe spot and then stand there, again. What the f*ck just happened?
Normality slowly resumes, as people ask me if I'm OK, and I ask the same of myself. Not dead. Good, then. I wait around for about three-quarters of an hour, give the police my number and a quick statement and then head home.
I am still tingling as I ring Lynn and tell her that dinner might be a little later than expected.

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