The Porche and the Hobbler

I was running for the tram today (well, really it was more like a quickened hobble because an old back injury is bulging at my spine in a very ugly way). So yeah, I was hobbling at pretty good pace for the this tram. The tram was still some distance but I knew it was going to be a challenge to get there (you're horizons shrink when you're a hobbler.) The red man was red but I lurched onto the crossing anyway because it seemed safe enough and because dammit I'm crippled now! Normal pedestrian rules don't apply! All of a sudden a thirty-something wearing wrap-around shades screeches up to me in his shiny purple Porsche Boxter, says 'take your time, buddy, take your time', then speeds off. First I was bewildered, then I was like 'like fuck you yuppie scum! Come back here so I can yell something witty once I think of it!' THEN something strange happened. Sitting on the tram I realised something in his voice sounded too sincere to ignore. He wasn't just telling me to slow down to be a dick. He really meant it. He was advising me like some kind of strange, wealthy apparition in bad sunglasses. When you're a hobbler and someone driving a stupidly fast vehicle gently advises you to slow the fuck down maybe there's something to it. Or maybe I've been taking too many pain killers.