We die so much on the streets people barely notice anymore.
And when they do, they usually say its our fault, just like the splattered fly is responsable for having crashed on their windshield.
I know I'm gonna end up under a truck, and it scares the shit out of me. Not because I'm afraid of dying but rather because I'm afraid of surviving it, even if its just for a few agonizing hours. I'd rather die right on spot.
This is why I've been thinking about devising this new invention: its a headband you wear just like any other headband, except this one's filled with black powder and an impact fuse. Whenever the wearer suffers an impact, his head explodes, thus exterminating any risks of surviving a gruesome écrapou.
Now I know sometimes it really is the cyclist's fault.
No later than today, my little sister took this picture from her balcony. The guy's riding on Pie-IX, the highway/boulevard, and Ontario, the east side's drunk junction. This guy's gonna go on riding all his life and die in bed from a peaceful natural death, while I probably will die from electrocution by a defective safety light on my bike.
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