It wasn’t as if I couldn’t see the headlights of that car. I had time, and plenty of it, to get out of the way. I just stood on the white stripes of that crosswalk and stared him down. If he was really so bent on murdering me, he’d watch it happen. He’d have to see it. I’d been after him for somethin’ too terrible to recount to this genteel audience, and this was his way of shutting me down. I was amused that he’d chosen to do it himself; I almost wondered why, and I would have, if there had been time.
Time slowed down and at that last split second when he could have stopped, he slammed the gas to the floor. The world spun in slow circles. I could see the landyacht he was driving belching clouds of black smoke out the back end, and I just looked him in the eye as if to say,
“Couldn’t you have chosen a more environmentally friendly method of murder?”