Supercollider

Illustration by Bob AulYou were the highflying cyclist riding the wrong way—at night, in dark clothes, down a busy boulevard. I was the woman driving the Ford Expedition who, just before turning right onto an equally busy cross street, stopped suddenly to avoid running into you head-on in the crosswalk. I didn't expect thanks. But I also didn't expect you to walk your bike alongside my car, pounding on it as you proceeded and cursing me in terms I doubt the Weekly would print. You're probably wondering why I allowed you to bang on my car, why I didn't simply drive away and leave you sputtering in my rear-view. So let me tell you: I was considering the possibility of opening my glove compartment, pulling out the handgun I keep there, and sticking that gun into your mouth until you forked over whatever money you keep in your expensive-looking riding suit. I battled the temptation. You gambled on a stranger's decency, and this time you won.

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