Just a quick note — the Intersection of Death flexed its muscle once again this evening. I was driving down Colvin and saw a big crowd around one car with its back end pretty much torn off and pushed into a street sign on a corner, and the second car about 50 yards further down the road with a crumpled hood. No pictures, I’m afraid, but man alive–what is going on here? I may write a letter to my councilman. Do I have a councilman?
Yet ANOTHER accident at the Intersection of Death™ a few minutes ago, in what is undoubtedly the deadliest of cross streets in North Buffalo: Colvin Avenue and Sanders Road. I’ve lived in my current apartment since July of 2006, and since then I’ve seen or heard roughly fifteen accidents there. Yes, FIFTEEN! And those are only the ones I was actually at home for.
The Intersection was mentioned in one of my True Stories of Buffalo, NY a while back (which is overdue for another, by the way), which may be a more enjoyable read than this current post: read on.
This was a relatively low-key entry in the logs for the Intersection, as neither driver called the cops, and there was no yelling as they exchanged their insurance information. Very disappointing for my fellow tenants and I. Not to worry, there will undoubtedly be another accident in the very near future, ripe with all manner of cursing and hysterical flailing. Stay tuned…
Check out past accidents here. (Don’t get too freaked out; no one’s ever been hurt or killed there, that I know of.)
You may remember, about a year or so ago, I had to ward off an evil wife-beater with my trusty Ralph Kiner Hall of Fame bat (kind of). You can relive that experience here. Well, there was no bat involved this time, and my role was minimal, but I do have another TRUE STORY OF BUFFALO, NY!
So, I’m sitting on my couch and thoroughly enjoying the newest episode of Dirty Jobs, entitled “Monkey Caretaker,” when–what do I hear?–the screeching of tires followed by a loud WHAM! Having borne witness to three prior car accidents at the intersection outside my apartment, I knew this would be the fourth right away, just by the sound of it. I jumped to my feet, slapped on my sandals and hurried outside in time to see a large, black man yelling at a young, scrawny kid in a baseball cap at the top of his lungs. Such delightful barbs as “god damn it, man!” and “look at this shit!” filled the night air as my neighbors began to file out of their homes and ogle the scene.