On something as festive as Easter Monday, the most unlikely road users appear.
A hate gray nature
A lived-in, heavy classic sidecar combination quickly weighs up to 500 kilos while driving, evenly divided over three narrow tires. That gives peace of mind and self-confidence.
Via the road from the right, which flows smoothly into my priority road, I am stalked by a senior citizen's cake with osteoarthritis-friendly swinging doors. The driver is a gray-blue crested woodpecker of the kind whose spouse already deserves a place in heaven. Old women also have the tendency to crawl at a cash register with a painfully devious face. If they are confronted with this, they passively aggressively attack. Think: you have no respect for old people! Then tell the cashier that the old lady can go ahead. Because she only has such a short life. Success assured.
This copy does that too. She takes priority. I feel mildly displeased and decide to just keep on driving. We touch each other with the flanks. My sidecar planes a few meters along the side of the Daewoo, or fake Chevrolet. I send in something, because I prefer not to go to the left, since there are oncoming traffic.
The gray-crested hate pigeon keeps a frozen course while I am scraping and scratching on my way to her front bumper. Just past the front wheel I steer my tricycle strongly correcting to the right. That works. The hairless Daewoo bulges up the sidewalk and crashes into a dog poo storage bin post. The left flank of the thing had "kiss on it, plaster on it" abrasions. The nose is worse.
Damage determination
I walk to the aspiring murderess with an expiration date. She is still at the wheel with two hands. I open her door. She turns her head and looks at me with two hated eyes.
I raise my index finger, look at her in her mean, pale blue mirrors and say clearly; “FOEI!” She slips through thin lips with neat dictation: “You are a bastard. My more blessed husband had you shot. "
I make an estimate of the police actions in our former emerald belt. And agree with the Indonesians that they wanted to get rid of us.
I feel mild and say: "I hope you will see him again soon". She looks at me tightly and says again: "Withers like you were shot in the past". I look at her in a friendly way and say: "But because we are civilized now, that does not happen and you will probably die sooner than me."
She does not want to fill in damage forms. Give her name and address? She doesn't do that to such a bastard. A police car is coming. It drives by. Someone who had called the police comes to report that the police will only come in case of physical injury.
I decide not to let it go that far. Look endeared at my dented and scratched sidecar fender. Oh well, my tricycle is almost sixty years old and it probably wasn't always easy in the former CCCP. Such a bumped fender is tough. I take some pictures. Write down some addresses. And go on again.