LOS ANGELES — It was just after 2 a.m. Thursday when I exited an ESPYS after-party somewhere in some uncharted section of downtown L.A., hailed a cab and stepped off the curb. After that, things got fuzzy.
I remember a shout, screeching tires and the glare of fast approaching headlights. I got just enough warning to leap over the hard-charging Honda Civic’s front fender and into the windshield, shoulder first.
So, this is what getting hit by a car feels like.
When I came to, I was on the sidewalk, my shoulder hurting like crazy, shards of glass in my forearm and blood dripping from my fingers, while limo drivers and other witnesses screamed this way and that. The paramedics told me I was lucky to be alive (“Last time I saw a windshield like that,” said one, “guy lost both his legs”), and all I could think was, “Damn! I just bought this Banana Republic tie-and-shirt ensemble!”