The light turned green a white cane appeared in my periphery I slammed my foot and the blind man backed to the curb. Did he sense some subtle shift of engine sound an altered emission taste on the tongue? I drive wary at dark and I’m wrong when I say lights blind me, my sight but only confused — a shimmer of images. To not see. Distinguish day from night by the weather of his skin. A humble scent. These words, read aloud only for him. A caterwaul of daily epics from which one voice shall rise in acclamation.
Almost hit a blind man. Spent the rest of my drive trying to empathize with what blindness really means, man. Thought I’d give the blind some props and recognize my own privilege as a sighted person.