Few things instill more caution than watching a person get hit by a car. Bardes, Dan, my youngest brother and I can attest to this, now that we've actually seen it happen. It was July Fourth Eve and we were standing at the intersection of Avenue A and St. Mark's Place - a corner once fabled for its punk heritage, now notable only for this amazing article that came out in New York magazine a couple of weeks back - when suddenly we heard some gasps and watched a jaywalker get smacked by a minivan.
It all happened so fast. And yet, the whole thing played through my mind in slow motion for days afterward - the glasses flying off the kid's face; the moans of pain that immediately followed as he slowly unfolded his torqued body; the firemen who rushed to the scene at once, their proximity a lucky coincidence; the van's occupants standing on the street, a whole family thrust into an unforeseeable mess through no fault of their own - and it's instilled in me a sense of caution that I doubt I possessed beforehand.
I think the guy was okay. He was basically our age, dressed in standard hipster attire and no doubt moving from one fun nightspot to another. His fourth of July was surely ruined. Be careful when you cross the street, yeah?
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