It was dusk, almost dark, and I was sitting on my bike at Bryn Mawr and Sheridan, waiting for the light to change. A middle-aged couple striding south hand in hand stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk. At that moment a small red car pulled up in the far lane a little too fast and rolled into the crosswalk about ten feet in front of the couple. Instead of veering around the car, the two kept walking directly at it. When they were about three feet from it they suddenly swung their left legs up high and kicked the front end in unison. One big thunk. They yelled something at the driver, skirted the front fender, and strode on, stiff hand in hand. The light changed, and the red car lurched forward and careened north onto Sheridan.
A friend told me of her various unsuccessful attempts to alleviate a persistent back pain. Near desperation, she took the advice of a friend and visited an aged Chinese acupuncturist on the north side in the hope that his needle therapy might finally give her some relief. As she lay on the table with the old doctor leaning close, preparing to stick his long needles in her face, her fear and doubts prompted her to blurt out, "You know, I think I'd much rather be getting a massage."
The old doctor looked at her, paused, and said, "Me, too!"