You, young man that just sped through that pedestrian lane right in front of me ... Yes, you ... You've done that to me 30 times this fall and 29 times in broad daylight. No, I don't mind stopping for you midway in the street or feel your breeze on my dorsal side as you whiz behind me. It's either not mind or be splattered all over the front of your big, powerful car.
After all, I guess might makes right and superior force infinitely more precious. I like that competitive spirit that gets you through the cross walk inches before me, glancing from side to side to make sure you have won. I like that studied sneer and fender scrape where you, oh, so gently jousted my brief case as you roared by. You're going somewhere, young man, and please don't forget your asbestos suit!
Would you accept one small plea? Just a little thing. Don't gamble with me and my life. You missed me this time and those other times but I'm getting older and my reflexes sag a little here and there. In a year or two, if you miss me next time, I'll have children of my own and hope you'll miss them too, because I'll love them.
What if something distracts them just for a split second and they didn't see you bearing down full speed ahead? Another splattered student? Or a loud, bone crunching scream? Just for a second mind you.
But time would stop on that second for you and me. No, I don't mind stopping for you. Its not the law! A pedestrian in the lane means you stop until he has crossed ... I hope.
Jerry Foster
Oct. 10, 1966