When I was young, maybe eight or nine, I was hit by a car, I remember it vividly, I found looking both ways, time consuming when cars were fairly loud, I could hear them coming so why should I look I reasoned, other senses exist, we rely too much on vision. I was the kind of kid who tried to defy conventional wisdom and come up with more ‘efficient’ means of getting things done, unfortunately a newer model car was much quieter than the previous, so my personal radar was, subpar. It was as if something appeared out of nowhere, one moment I was walking, then a flash of red, not my blood, the color of the car, that metallic taste filled my mouth, it didn’t hurt, or rather, it hurt so much my mind blacked out that sensation, and then I was on the pavement, many times I went over that part in my mind trying to determine if I flew there from the force or stumbled backward in pain, but there I was on my back on the pavement, safe from other cars. The red car was gone, I never saw it again, to the best of my memory it did come back, but I wasn’t looking at it, I couldn’t look at it, though my memories of this event are disjointed each segment is vivid as if recent, yet still so fractured. That was the day I learned to listen to my instincts, but heed the advice of those around me, look both ways is very good advice, you can’t cheat the system. No matter how good my ears were, I still should have listened.