This past week was an interesting week, now that I think about it. You know how people seem to be dropping left and right around TV detectives, like Angela Lansbury's character in Murder She Wrote and Miss Marple in Agatha Christie's mysteries? I felt like I had a touch of their bad luck last week.
Followed a drunk driver down Coliseum one night. I stayed behind him as he was slowly swerving from lane to lane, determined to honk loudly should he cross into oncoming traffic. Lost him at a traffic light and didn't see him again.
Wednesday afternoon while I was at Burger King, a loud argument erupted between an older man and a mother of young children. He loudly ordered a girl out of the area he was in, and the mom came, retrieved her child, and told the man, "You do not speak to my daughter that way." Well, apparently he did, because he proceeded to speak to the mom that way, too. It escalated from there in accusations, cursing, and threats.
Yesterday, while sitting at a traffic light, I heard the sudden loud screech of tires and looked up in time to see a car skidding toward my back end at a 45-degree angle. Stopping 10 feet back, it suddenly lurched forward again, only to quickly stop again just short. Focusing now on the occupants, I saw the female driver and the male passenger struggling. The man forcibly opened the passenger door and tried to get out while the woman grabbed his sweatshirt. Escaping his sweatshirt, he also escaped the car. She rolled down her window and yelled at him, then turned swiftly into an alley after him.
I don't know; maybe your world's always like this. But for me, the craziness of this sinful world impinged upon mine a little more than usual this week.