The Beemer turning down 7th Avenue narrowly avoids hitting the runner in the crosswalk, and the runner, understandably pissed at almost getting creamed, smacks the trunk as it passes before continuing down Union Street toward the park.
I'm watching all this from the corner, so I get a good look at the driver and his blank, rage-filled stare, as he flips an entirely illegal u-turn, guns it back to the intersection, and screeches down Union to follow the runner, who's nearly half-way down the block by now.
Whereupon the driver is brought up short by the very reason he turned down 7th Avenue in the first place: heavy traffic. He doesn't even get a third of the way down the block before his journey is choked by a line of brake lights a quarter of a mile long, while the runner, blissfully unaware, continues to lengthen the distance between himself and his angry new friend.
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