A Patch of Dirt

For most of the southern portion of the MetroRail, US-1 runs alongside the train, including between Coconut Grove station and my apartment. Every day, I exit the station and walk down the sidewalk to the street light. No one else does.

While I wait for the light to change, 20 yards away people dart from the roadside to a thin concrete berm that bisects the eight lane highway. Once traffic backs up from the light to where they stand, they weave between cars to the opposite sidewalk. Foot traffic has worn their waiting spot down to a patch of dirt.

The first person I saw make the dash was a bum—causing me to write it off as a fluke. But in the weeks that followed I watched teenagers, workmen, nurses in scrubs, men in suit and tie and even a few young professionals use the route. I haven’t seen a single close call or even heard a horn.

I imagine all those people started just like me. Every day they walked to the light, pressed the crosswalk button, waited for the pedestrian light and then took their life into their hands. I guess they figured they could do that just as well further up the road.

Maybe it’s the anonymity. Cars in Miami are allowed to darken their front windows to opacity. Many take advantage. Then they try to run over your toes.

Sometimes they are courteous. They stop for you—with their wheels on the line of the crosswalk.

But they never honk at you. They wouldn’t want to warn you.

I’ll be glad to be back in Cali.