Love & Loathing On Third Street
One day just before Christmas going west on Third Street, I was overtaken by a driver who leaned over to bellow through the open passenger window, “YOU SHOULDN’T EVEN BE HERE!” before shooting ahead of me.
San Rafael’s four lane speedway can resemble a drag race on a Friday afternoon, with the emphasis on the ‘drag’.
Behind, and to our left, the usual sea of cars arranged on a perfect grid, homebound off 101. No doubt a few unhappy campers among them,
pushing back into padded leather seats,
venting their rage
into their cell phone.
Fried from a long workday
exacerbated by sleep deprivation
owing to the mortage meltdown,
the war, or
a barking dog.
Nothing a little music
and a bag of chips can’t fix.
When my traffic partner and I were (of course) lined up again at the next red, I shifted my worry-furrowed brow into neutral. No need to show fear, and definitely no need to look her way. Eye contact is an incitement to fight in some species.
Into the crosswalk stepped a sixtyish gentleman– about ten years older than I .
He looked my way, pointed at my bicycle and exclaimed, ”We should ALL be doing that!”
I waved (from the wrist, us royals gotta protect against repetitive stress)
and thought: only in