Tonight I saw a cyclist hit by a car.
It was gloaming, and it had been raining so the sky was that louring, looming colour and the streets were glistening, throwing up just enough glare from headlights and streetlights to confuse the vision without actually illuminating anything.
One moment the cyclist was coasting through the roundabout; then the car tried to occupy the same space, at speed. There was a thump, the car slammed to a halt, and everybody froze.
There were pedestrians everywhere, and none of us moved. We all just stared at the car, trying to make sense of the noise, that thud meant the car had hit something but there was nothing visible to be hit. Because the poor cyclist was all but under the car's wheels.
While I waited for the ambulance to arrive, I learnt that her name was Joanne, and that she wanted to sit up.
There are risks in everything, even in silence. Especially in silence.