Dear Condo Cave-dweller,
Today, instead of walking with my friends, I decided to go for a bike ride through my neighborhood and yours. I clipped my water bottle to my bike. I donned my helmet and strategically placed my cell phone and set out. I huffed and puffed my way up the street, and it was getting just the tiniest bit easier. So, I decided to venture past the gates of the Estates, where The Zone is, and through the adjacent condos, oddly known as The Courtyards, from whence you came.
I enjoyed riding through The Courtyards. A bevy of mallards waddled out of my way as I peddled around the sparkling pond. By this time, I was feeling a bit stronger, so I decided to ride all the way out to the main road before turning back to my house. I coasted out of The Courtyards and avoided riding on the sidewalk because your lame condo association never keeps its plants trimmed. As I rounded that blind curve northbound, I heard your car behind me; I steered towards the right edge of the road, hoping to get out of your way.
Apparently, that conversation you were having on your mobile phone was so engrossing that you couldn’t pay attention to the fat broad (me) riding her bicycle on the sunny lane. You sped by me and forced me on to the grass. I skidded on to the sidewalk and crashed into the coral rock wall. My right hand absorbed the full impact; I’m lucky I didn’t break it. Bloodied and badly shaken, I limply pedalled home. My right hand now has several huge holes in it. They are not easily bandaged, and they sting.
Caveman, you suck as a driver. You suck as a neighbor, and you suck as a human being for failing to stop to see if I was alright. Hang up the damn cell phone and pay attention to the road.
P.S. If you ever venture out of The Courtyards and into The Estates, the last thing you will see is the rictus on my face as I flatten you with my big-ass new car.