A hand grabbed me, breaking my musical reverie; I felt rather than saw the bus zip by.
Removing an earbud, I turned, "You're a real guardian angel, man".
A polite demurral. The lights turned red.
The car hit me as I stepped out. I rode the bonnet briefly before being bucked off.
Life seeped from me. Through oily steam the man knelt with sad eyes.
Sunlight shimmered a nimbus round him. I furrowed my brow.
"Oh, I'm not your guardian angel." He looked away from me, up the street, "I'm his."
A small child, maybe six, full tilt focus on his scooter, jumped the kerb and wiped out spectacularly.
The scooter trundled on, blocking my view.
The quiet man stood back, I heard the clatter and sob of a mother riding the rollercoaster from anxiety to shame.
And then relief.
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