A black cat crosses my path. One hundred yards another black cat crosses my path. They are deep pure negative-space cats. Is the second black cat a double negative good luck omen or am I double going to die?
The hobos do not leap out of the bushes with blades clenched between their teeth. The wet gritty ground does not slip out from under my tires. The slugs in their frame by frame blitzkrieg attack are not thrown into my eyes on the centrifugal slingshot of my wheel.
There ahead, there it is. A big white truck, a conspicuously spotless chrome bumper where the ghost of my death hides in the dent that isnt there yet. The driver is turning right at a red light, inching out looking left where the traffic is coming from. I am coming down the bike path from his right. He inches forward. I dont touch the brakes because the cats have crossed my path, the future is already there.
I guess I am not going to die there, yet felt so spectral nearly spooked the driver to death when he turned his head and saw me there. Not dead. Yet.
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