In What Kind Of Fear Do People Live?

I rode my bike to Royal Park. It was a cool day despite the sun shining. It was a nice day for a ride.

On my way home, I was crossing slowly over from the bike track in Park Street to head up Canning Street to home, there was a woman crossing Canning Street, behind who I was going to go. She had on head phones, admittedly, and she saw me out of the corner of her eye kind of at the last minute before I would have passed behind her. When she did, she recoiled, ripped the head phones from her ears, gave out a cry, as though in pain, like a baby harp seal might as the club hit it in the head, and staggered backwards into my path and nearly lost her footing on the bluestone surround of the median strip in the middle of Canning Street, very nearly tumbling over backwards.

“Keep going,” I said. “I was going to go behind you.”

She ended up, what I would call, laughing semi hysterically, like Lisa Simson laughs hysterically, standing in front of my bike.

Of course, I nearly fell off my bike onto the median strip in the middle of Canning Street too trying to avoid her.

I have to say, I was kind of shocked by her reaction.

It all happened in a few seconds, of course, but as it was happening, it was like a slow motion car crash, nearly a car crash.