Walking to my bus stop the other morning, I heard tires screech and a honk. I looked up to see a girl in the nearby crosswalk just as she seemed to notice that she had walked in front of a car. She threw her arms up, laughing, and ran out of the crosswalk. We made eye contact and I saw that she was a skater for Derby Liberation Front. I said something like That was close and she punched the air, victorious, and yelled "I survived! I'm alive!" and I smiled all the way to my bus stop.
Yesterday I had my own near miss, up too early and texting and jaywalking, on my way to meet a friend. A honk, and a Prius glided to a halt in the crosswalk in front of me. I looked up absently, waiting for the car to move. The rear window rolled down. A woman yelled from the driver's seat, "I almost hit you!" I stared at her. It hadn't seemed like that much of a close call. "I almost hit you!" she screamed again. For some reason, her fury made me smile. "You can calm down now," I said, bemused, and she glided away, somehow enraged that I wasn't quivering from my brush with near-death.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...