Righteous Dopefiend

Abstract

Cars shoot one by one around the blind curve of the exit ramp as they descend from the free-way without reducing their speed. Frank is the ?rst to cross. He strains to listen, but the back ground roar of rush hour traf?c above us drowns out the sound of oncoming cars. He takes a deep breath, jumps off the curb, and sprints safely past the DO NOT ENTER sign onto the median. Felix follows, crossing carefully but more confidently. Now it is my turn. I timidly stick out one foot as though testing the temperature of water, hold my breath, and dash to the other side. I have driven past this spot weekly for the last ten years, but when I feel it for the ?rst time below the rubber sole of my shoe, and when I grab the iron guardrail to hoist myself onto the median, I feel as if I am stepping onto foreign soil.