Thy Kingdom Come

It was an ordinary day, rich with the unexpected: morning and evening I narrowly avoided car crashes. I was unharmed, but strangely stirred.

First came reckless driving at the roundabout. The way looked clear and I drove ahead. The car on my left which I expected to turn left or go straight instead changed lanes and followed the roundabout—crossing in front of me—towards the right exit.

I slammed on the brakes to let the crazy driver pass. “Good driving, Mister Magoo!” I muttered.

He—thick glasses, florid jowls and a white bandage on his bald head—glared at me, outraged to see my car shuddering to a stop a metre from his silver Corolla. I glimpsed a Saint Christopher medallion hanging from his rear-view mirror. I gestured, clumsily, that it was the wrong lane to make a right turn. The elderly driver shook his head dismissively—no possibility of error on his part!—and continued his leisurely exploration of the roundabout.

Saint Christopher had his hands full…