On Saturday night, I went out to Paychecks Lounge in Hamtramck to hear Cowboy Messiah. They were sloppy (bad), goofy (good, 'cuz it was a clever goofy), obsessed with getting laid (pretty much every song had at least one reference), and thoroughly screwed by a sound guy who looked to be about 15 and didn't think it was rock and roll if there wasn't a wall of guitars coming from the stage.
Anyway, on the drive back -- round about 1:ooam -- and very near the Rawsonville Exit, a man walked straight out onto the highway. I was driving in the middle of the three lanes. I hit brakes and horn, but was reluctant to swerve unless it became absolutely necessary because there was traffic coming up behind me (but not too close) and because there was nothing in this man's demeanor that indicated he had any clue that 3,000 lb boxes of steel were barreling down on him at 70mph. I had no idea what he was going to do. If he had even looked at me, I would have felt better about swerving right (in the direction from which he had come), but that he showed no recognition of his peril -- he did not look, he did not hurry -- left me fearful that he might stop walking or that he might even turn right around.
I did not hit him (thank you brakes) and he seemed to make it across the third lane into the median okay, but I have no clue what fate awaited him on the other side. Eyes forward, relaxed pace, completely unaware... I'm having trouble shaking the image of him.
The Iceman Cometh
4 months ago