Word: driver
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John did not have a driver's license and was still in high school, so attending prayer services five times a day was out of the question. On Friday nights, though, he would change out of his Western clothes and attend services at the Islamic Center of Mill Valley. Abdullah Nana usually drove him there. Nana, now 23, recalls that when he first saw Walker, he stood out immediately, not simply because he was a white man in a mostly Indian congregation but also because he was "on his own," meaning already devoted to Islam and without a referral from...
Yesterday I saw a biker on DeWolfe Street talking to the driver of a car next to him. “Why did you overtake me and then turn right in front of me?” he asked. I immediately knew what had transpired: Biker in the bike lane on Mt. Auburn Street, car overtakes biker and makes an immediate right, biker slams on brakes and, if is lucky, avoids missing car. It has happened to me. You can’t see the car’s blinker—if it’s on?...
...door in front of me didn’t give me the chance to brake. I saw the door, and then slammed into it with my neck and shoulder. Pain shot down from my neck to my shoulder and arm. I screamed in agony and in anger. If the driver had looked in his rearview mirror before he opened the door, he would have seen my front light (it was 5:15 p.m., already dark) approaching him along with the traffic on Broadway. If he had looked, I might be able to lift my left arm over my head...
...winced when I heard the biker’s question. I remembered my impact. In my mind’s eye I saw that car door open in front of me again, that split-second before I was screaming in pain and in fury, at the door, the driver and the world that let this happen to me, now, right before I was supposed to go snowboarding with my family over break, right before my thesis chapter...
...grew up driving my car around a big city, and I know what it’s like to be a city driver. This isn’t a rant against the inconsiderateness of Bostonians. A relative of a friend was killed in a similar accident in San Francisco. I didn’t know that until this week, but ever since coming to college and becoming a full-time pedestrian and/or biker, I have been appalled by the way drivers slalom around the city streets in their 2-ton metal projectiles. How dare they play chicken with my life...