  I Always Say… As I was out and about this weekend, I drove passed the scene of an accident, or better stated, attempted to drive passed the scene of an accident when the line of rubber-neckers in front of me caused me to catch the light at the intersection where the accident had occurred.
The scene was directly to my left. As I waited for the light to change, I glanced around, looking for the damaged vehicles, seeking an opportunity to apply the Wapnerian Physics I learned during my years of watching litigants move play cars across the whiteboard in The People’s Court . No wreckage. No tell-tale shards or broken tail lights. In fact, no sign of cars at all. Hmm… What I did find, to my horror, was a body covered in a white sheet, lying in the middle of the road, not ten feet from my vehicle.
Shoes that were on the living, breathing being that had been reduced to a shell of humanity under a sheet on wet pavement, where situated haphazardly in the road. As if this person had casually kicked his shoes off before lying down to his death. The light changed. As I drove away, I was surprised to find that more disturbing to me than the shrouded body itself was the image left in my mind of the shoes in the road.
How strange. But there was something about seeing those shoes that drew a direct correlation to the way that I open my front door and leave my own shoes strewn in the foyer. It gave me a shudder that lasted the rest of the way home. My nosey nature – or, as I like to call it, my inquisitive tendency – led me to inquire of my coworkers as to the details of the weekend’s accident.
I learned today that the shoes in the road, as well as the body, once belonged to a ninety-year-old man who, minutes before my arrival to the scene, had suffered the terrible misfortune of being struck by a Hummer. How sad - To live to be ninety only to be struck by a Hummer on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Tragic, even. Heck, better to be struck by a Hummer in your nineties than to be struck by a Hummer in your thirties. I always say… 
