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The chutzpah

I walk carefully. I'd better: I do it a lot, there's eventually traffic, and there are lots of potential ways to get hurt or killed while walking. I'm vigilant. Occasionally over-vigilant: I'll think things like what if a car goes the wrong way, or drives onto the sidewalk, or (I'm only slightly exaggerating here) falls from the sky? Situational awareness. I have it.

So I'm still shaking my head at the guy I saw yesterday at SE 52nd and Woodstock, waiting to cross 52nd then just thinking fuck it and crossing against traffic, causing a southbound car driver to honk at him and, I noticed, his dog (his unleashed dog) and acting like the driver was doing the wrong thing, when DUDE. YOU STEPPED INTO TRAFFIC.

I have a huge certainty that if I'd done that, I wouldn't be here typing this blog entry.

To add a walloping dollop of WTF to this, the guy walked towards me and held out his hand, where he had what looked like the tip of a ballpoint pen, talking to me about how it was a bullet point. Or maybe he said it could be made into a bullet point, I'm not sure. I said in reply, "That's from a pen." And then I said, again, "That's from a pen." And then I started avoiding him and his dog, though luckily they continued down Woodstock, the way I'd come. And I got away.