Dear Driver,
(yes - you - the arrogant expensive car owner who nearly mowed me down at the pedestrian crossing an hour ago)
When you saw my sweat-grimed, glowing face mere inches from yours through the tinted windows of your luxury getting-places machine, my grimace wasn't only due to the burn in my thighs, having nearly completed an hours' run. It also reflected my righteous ire at my life being almost terminated or, at the very least, qualitatively diminished by intimate contact between your behemoth of a motor vehicle and my fragile fleshly mass of bone, muscle, et al.
Your vehicle may cost more than my annual income, but that does not give you the right to flout traffic rules.
If you are proficient at lip-reading, you may have learnt some new words during the course of this incident. Certainly the looks and gestures you made in my direction seemed indicative of some emotional arousal on your part. I wish I could believe that what I saw was a vigorous outpouring of remorse over your life-endangering behaviour; however, I suspect that had I been able to hear you, I would have been provided with further evidence of your narcissistic arrogance and your underlying belief that the road belongs to you, and woe betide anyone who dares to share.
It would be very nice if you would modify your driving habits. The next runner you almost kill will most certainly appreciate it.
Yours in shared road usage,
Catie
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