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I was standing on the corner of 26th and Central, watching cars whip down the four-lane, two-way corridor and waiting for a red light to use the crosswalk to get to the Food Co-op on the other side of the street. The speed limit’s 20 here but no one obeys it.

They put one of the city’s first automated traffic cameras only a half-mile south of here because of all the joyriders, hot-rodders and people hanging out the windows of Dodge Chargers.

It was hot, humid, and there’s really no shade or tree cover on Central. You’re beating the pavement while the sun’s beating down the back of your neck: it’s Swampass Central.

Across the street, standing between the light pole and bus shelter, was a homeless woman bent over rummaging through her smaller two-basket shopping cart. She had an awful lot of layers on in the oppressive heat, and the humidity was working her unkept hair into a frazzled mop.

Satisfied with whatever it is she was looking for, she stood up straight, moved behind the cart, maneuvered it onto the curb ramp and just started off across the street. There was no red light, it wasn’t even close to being one, cars were flying by going 30 to 40, and off she went, totally unfazed by it all.

First, there’s the sort of bike/bus lane buffer, so she’s momentarily safe there, but drivers have to already be asking themselves “what the fuck is going on here,” as she’s quickly moving into the first southbound lane. Me, I’m certain I’m about to view some real ultra violence: cart and body tossed through the air, brains and blood splattered, people suffering shock and trauma.

As she enters the second southbound lane, a car has to SLAM on its breaks to avoid thumping her. You can hear the screech from the rapidity of the tires locking to a halt on the blacktop and see the vehicle’s body sort of lurch forward on the springs with forward momentum before settling backward into its violent halt. The homeless lady doesn’t even glance to the side; she acts like it’s no fucking thing whatsoever. Her pace remains the same exact same as she continues across the street untroubled.

And that pace suddenly looks sort of poetic when her crossing of the solid yellow lines coincides perfectly with a car screaming up the northbound lane she’s about to enter: it flys by as she steps forward in perfect tandem, one replacing the other in harmony; it’s a synchronicity that makes your heart skip a beat.

She just keeps rolling along, absolutely no change in demeanor, no glance at the car that almost side-swept her straight to hell, nothing. Eyes forward, she pushes her cart through the final northbound lane and up the curb ramp beside me.

I’ve simply got to say something. That was one of the most incredible displays of Frogger I could ever imagine seeing in real life, and the balls of steel she’d displayed through it all, my god! I was nearly stunned speechless, but I was greatly encouraged by the fact that I hadn’t seen her die.

“You made it!” was all I could think to say.

“Jesus Christ kept me alive,” she quickly replied without giving me a glance, and kept pushing along down the sidewalk.