Open letter

To the fucker who nearly ran me over today,

Dear Mr. Fucker,

When the bus stops right before a crossing, there's usually a good reason, considering Parisian bus drivers are not exactly known for their indolent driving. Now, I understand that due to the bus, you might not have been able to see the light, but I'll give you a hint. If pedestrians are crossing the street in droves right in front of you, if the bus has stopped, and if cars are zooming across said crossing transversally to you, chances are the light is red for you. That's your cue to stop. Not, repeat NOT, to press the bloody gas pedal. Let's have a little practice, you and me. Gas - right; brakes - middle. Got that? Gas - right. Brakes - middle.
The fact that you cannot see that the light is red will never ever ever mean you're right in the eye of the law or of your insurance company; and I suspect that, considering the car you have, you don't want to increase your premium any.
I am single, childfree, and jobless, and you could almost say I have no real prospects right now, but those are no reasons why I should just be an easy target and stand there to let you drive over my unattached body.
Also, when I almost die of fright because you stop millimeters from me and I look at you disbelievingly, it is not a good idea to try and stare me down. A simple hand up, meaning "sorry, or whatever", would have sufficed. The fact that you tried to stare me down made me want to yank you out of your death machine and shake you until the walls of your brain collapsed. You see, that's the difference between you and me: I thought about it so I didn't have to stop at the last second.

Don't hesitate to contact me should you need any more driving/avoiding-to-kill-people lessons. I can also provide you with a list of driving schools, which I have no doubt would be delighted to have your custom for a while.

Yours sincerely, xoxo, etc.
anne, your almost dead victim