Terror.

I was driving along my merry way home.
I noticed a fancy silverish-blue car swerving all over, making sudden stops and starts, and almost colliding with many other cars.
Being a biker, this annoyed me, being a human, this made me ornery, because this stupid driver is endangering people's lives with his inconsiderate driving. I timidly pass him. Unfortunately, the light ahead is red. And red means stop.
I glance over. He is a latino, smiling and enjoying coming to a jerking stop.His adolescent son is in the seat next to him. Adorned in lots of loverly gangsta stuff. The driver turns and notices me looking at them, and I have an appalled and disgusted face on. What kind of person enjoys being an idiot driver???
Now, everyone knows I'm deaf. And listens to the radio pretty loud. My windows are rolled up. But even I can hear him clearly. He's screaming at me, calling for attention that I refuse to give. Then my stupid imagination takes flight! I imagine this same man, if I turned and looked, I imagined he had a gun in his hand...and he was just waiting for me to look...
The long red light finally turns green. I take my time in getting going. He zooms off, swerving all over the place. I get ready to turn onto bangerter. Thank goodness he's going straight!
Then.
Out of the blue, he swerves right onto Bangerter almost hitting cars once again. And he keeps changing lanes to be right in front of me. Once in front of me, he slows down suddenly.
Frustrated and flabbergasted and frightened, I slow down until a bunch of bigger and more impatient cars swerve around me and go in front of me. I successfully increase the amount of space-and cars-between me and this crazy driver.
I successfully made it home in one piece. Without a single dent to my name.

But...I seriously wished I had a police phone number on my cell.

Now that I'm eighteen...I might just obtain a concealed weapon permit. Why not? What if things turned out worse? What if...?

I don't even want to think about it.

I'm going to enroll in a gun safety course. I wish fists could stop bullets, but they don't.

Or maybe I'm just overreacting. Maybe all the myths that people spread about Kearns is getting to my head.