The Pedestrian’s View
I was strolling down 4th Avenue, earbuds in, lost in a podcast about urban legends, when the world erupted. A silver sedan screeched around the corner, tires smoking like a dragon’s breath, and slammed into a delivery truck unloading boxes of oranges. The crash was deafening—a metallic crunch followed by the absurd sight of oranges bouncing everywhere, like some citrus hailstorm. I yanked out my earbuds, heart pounding, as the driver stumbled out, wild-eyed, yelling about a cat darting across the road. People screamed, scattering like startled birds, while a vendor nearby started shouting about his ruined fruit stand. I couldn’t look away—chaos unfolding in real time, a story I’d tell for years. The truck driver, a burly guy in a flannel shirt, climbed down, red-faced, swearing at the sedan driver, who just kept muttering about that damn cat. I edged closer, stepping over an orange, half-expecting sirens any second. It was a mess, but I felt alive, adrenaline buzzing, the city showing its raw, unpredictable pulse.
The Driver’s View
I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was late—boss chewing me out over the phone about a missed deadline—when this black cat bolted across 4th Avenue. I swerved, instinct kicking in, and next thing I know, my sedan’s kissing the side of a delivery truck. The airbag didn’t even deploy, just left me dazed, staring at cracked windshield glass. I shoved the door open, legs shaky, and tried to explain: “It was a cat, I swear!” But the truck driver was already in my face, bellowing about damages, his veins popping like cables. Oranges rolled under my feet—where’d those come from?—and some guy with a fruit cart was yelling too, waving a bruised apple like evidence. Pedestrians gawked, phones out, turning my screw-up into their entertainment. I kept seeing that cat in my head, sleek and smug, vanishing into an alley. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling—years of clean driving, gone in a split second. All I could do was stand there, drowning in shouts and citrus, waiting for the cops to sort it out.
The Street Vendor’s View
Ten years on this corner, and I’ve never seen a wreck this stupid. I was stacking apples, chatting up Mrs. Lopez about her grandkids, when this silver car comes barreling through like a missile. Bam—hits the truck, and my day’s work explodes. Oranges from the truck, my apples, even a crate of bananas—all tumbling into the gutter. The driver staggers out, babbling about a cat, like that fixes my ruined stock. The truck guy’s hollering, fists clenched, while pedestrians just stare, stepping on my livelihood. I grabbed an apple, shook it at the idiot driver—$50 down the drain, and for what? A cat? Mrs. Lopez patted my arm, said it’d be okay, but I saw red. That corner’s my life, and now it’s a fruit salad crime scene.
Foootsoldier Says… 