Chapter EightThough the intersection is bursting with vehicles and people, two targets stand out in my hyperawareness.
An express bus and an ancient Ford Crown Victoria.
The ginormous bus is hurtling toward me in the opposite lane, the driver clearly overeager to pass under the green light while the pedestrians are standing on the sidewalk for a change.
The beat-up Crown Vic is in the lane perpendicular to mine, going so fast that it’s bound to run over a few people on the red light—and then T-bone my Vespa.
Without fully understanding what I’m doing, I jerk on the handlebars as I max out the gas.
As my scooter turns, I catch a glimpse of the Crown Vic’s driver. It’s a man in his fifties, his skin oddly gray with a purplish tint. Something about his face rings a very distant bell, but
