Street Peeve

A guy crosses the road causing a passing car to brake hard. The driver jumps out and dashes towards the guy, who is now on the path. I can’t hear what they’re saying through the plate glass but the driver, who is wiry and jumpy, is clearly asking the guy if he wants some. The guy brandishes an opened bottle of beer, possibly a pale ale, held by the neck, at the driver. The driver puts both hands behind his back, as if going for a blade, and continues to enquire of the guy whether he would like to come and get some. At this cusp of ugliness, the guy backs off. The driver sneers and returns his to his car. As he opens the door, the other door, on the passenger side, bursts open. A stout blonde woman jumps out and dashes towards the retreating guy. She screams “You fucking bastard! Come here you fucking bastard! You fucking bastard! You fucking bastard!” She takes a step forward in order to to bend over in order to steady herself against the recoil from her shouting. She continues to scream “Come here you fucking bastard! You fucking bastard! You fucking bastard!” over and over and over. The guy is in retreat. The woman is beside herself. She seems utterly and dementedly and, I have to say, enviably, absorbed and has found an ideal posture, one which will probably allow her comfortably to void her rage without further physical adjustment. After a couple of dozen more screams she straightens up and returns to the car. Just before she gets there she waves to the driver of a car behind her, whose vehicle has been prevented from moving on. “Sorry!” she says politely (I can see her lips moving through the plate glass). I imagine the driver of this car thinking “I might just not say anything here. I might just not react. In any way.”

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