Crash 0
Ever since 9/11, I’ve been a little noise sensitive. Hearing the clack of metal plates banging on a street, firecrackers, or any other unexpected noise sends my heart racing.
I live steps away from a one-way street. Drivers often miss the light and hit cross traffic. I’m getting used to that noise. It just happened again. Squealing breaks, then the horn, then the bang. I stopped calmly folding laundry to go outside, not to look. I know, 9 out of 10 times, it’s some jackass on a phone that screwed up. No, I grabbed my business card and went outside in my Brooklyn sweatshirt to see if my parked car received any collateral damage.
My car was fine, but this time the innocent cross traffic car had been flipped. The corners of the intersection were littered with on-lookers. These are probably the same people that go to Ground Zero when they visit New York. Fuck them.
When I turned around to go back to my apartment, the sirens were near and the local news helicopter had already arrived.
I need to move.