time to stop

I have been told I am a bit foolhardy. Apparently I am looking for trouble by going to Sierra Leone and by biking around Paris with my little yellow friend. Apparently there is no point in getting a bike license, nor in skydiving or running marathons with my knees. Nor should I be going home alone after dark in a big city. Whatever.

Today, I was biking to school, the usual way. Right after Notre Dame I saw a truck being surrounded by police, ambulance and more police. I couldn’t help my curiosity and as I passed the site I turned to look over my shoulder. Under the front wheels of the truck there was a motorbike. Under the motorbike there was the biker.

I gasped. Even with no medical training I could tell that the boy had very little chance of surviving. There was not much left of him.

I turned my head away and continued pedalling. I passed the big crossing at Saint Michel and went on. In the next street lights the light turned red as I got there. I stopped. I stopped for the first time ever. This time I was not in a rush.

But surely that could not happen to me.