Pedestrian Road Kill

Reading some of the letters to the editor in response to the Jon Hilkevitch article on pedestrians in Chicago--one letter caught my eye. That pedestrians must take care to.

Well, duh.

Clearly I never thought of that as I duck and weave my way out of the line of fire of red-light running, speeding cell-phone blabbering drivers.

Crossing S. Michigan Avenue at 18th a few days ago, with the pedestrian light in my favor and with no car in sight--how am I to know that some bozo in a big-ass black truck would come speeding west on 18th to make a left hand turn on S. Michigan-- apparently aiming for me.

Then it hit me. He didn't because I'm still nimble of foot, but it hit me. I carry an ear-piercing alarm on my key ring. Though I usually don't have it in hand during the day, I have recently due to an outbreak of street muggings even in the South Loop. I will begin to carry it  now on the sidewalks. You try to hit me, BUZZ...I make a big noise.

Embarrassing? Not to me. I am truly fed up with bicycles riding on the sidewalks and cars on streets treating pedestrians like ROAD KILL.

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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