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  • I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be hit by a bus or car – but I can guess.

    My guess is that it would feel like getting hit in the face with a basketball – a sudden, unnerving blow to the face that you weren’t expecting, but comes anyway and won’t stop coming. It happens after one baboonish point guard hurls the ball towards the backboard in a fit of anger and jealousy. She heaves the globular piece of sporting equipment with the force of an Olympic shot putter. As you turn your head to watch the net swish, you are surprised to feel the rebound smash against the bridge of your nose and the furrow of your brow. You don’t expect it, but you accept it. The pain splits up your nose and webs out into your temples until your eyes start to water and there is a surging of blood. But where is it coming from? You ask.


    I think about getting hit by a bus a lot. I think about it as I dare to cross the street when the red hand is up, or when sidewalk construction forces me to walk along the edge of the pavement. I can’t imagine what it would be like – but I think it would feel like this. Except, of course, instead of it being your face, it would be your entire fucking body.
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