inches from the fender of my car, doing that neck-cracking thing that dumb guys always do when they feel bored. Thought: "Oooh, I'd like to crack that neck myself, you big, mean @#$%^&*."
My next thought was, "I could totally run Crazy Guy over. Right now." The thrill of the power was a little dizzying. Next thought, "Why not?" (Eighth or tenth thought--when it was too late, "Dammit. I drive a Toyota. I could have totally burned him and then blamed the 'accident' on my sticky accelerator pedal." Ninth or eleventh thought: "What is wrong with you? You'd never get away with it in a million years.")
I studied CG while we waited for the light to change. I knew that I could never actually run over Crazy Guy with my vehicle or even roll down the window and threaten to. After all, those are his M.O.'s. I did, however, follow him for a little bit, completely innocently; after all, his house is on a major road that I normally take to go home. But I felt suspense, as if I were waiting for something to happen. What exactly? Ooh, I know. He falls off his bike, and then I run over him. Oops! Or he gets into an accident and then I slow down, roll down the window, and laugh "HAHAHAHA, you @#$%^&&." Or , he cuts somebody off and makes a scene, and then I stop and get out and tell the cops that he's a known offender and probably packing. Or. . . or . . . I couldn't really think of anything that would not make me look like a complete maniac. So I did the only reasonable thing I could do. I rolled to a stop next to him at 45th and Shoal Creek and then flipped him the bird as I turned. He never noticed. CG notices nothing except the messed-up car crash-dog snuff films in his own head. What a schmuck.
So, take note. Crazy Guy is out of jail and back on his bike. He's just a @##$$%^, but it's best to leave him be. Let's be careful (and sane) out there this holiday weekend.
Take care, z