My ride dropped me off at the secondary plant, which will be open through the end of the week, so I could grab a few things from my old work space. I walked that old familiar walk one last time, and as I rounded the corner, I saw these amazing tire tracks that veered off of LaPorte and ended right at the damn spot I'd be waiting for the bus. I'd like to think that the driver had been Stuntman Mike but more than likely it was some idiot taking a shortcut into his own damn driveway. Still, it would have been nice getting plowed into by Kurt Russell. My whole body would be the Six Degrees of Separation, I suppose...Wayne
2 comments:
Stuntman Mike. By the Twelve Gods! I did indeed hate that film.
One day I was walking one of my routes as I stood on a hill getting ready to cross the street. A woman came roaring along going much too fast to take the curve in the road and plowed first through a granite wall (yep, granite blocks mortared solidly together), then through a low brick wall, and then continued to plow along through the moist lawn right where I'd have been standing if I'd already crossed the street.
Luck be a Lady.
A literal six degrees of separation sounds like it might hurt. Glad you weren't standing there.
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