It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment, my mind was full of thoughts of getting off work soon, musings about the upcoming play I'm about to direct, and the quickest way to get to 1005 Louisiana NE to pick up a ride. I stop at San Mateo and Constitution and follow a car in front of me to make left-hand turn. The cars ease up as we turn at the end of the light cycle to let us through, save one. In the blink of an eye, an SUV crashed into me.

This wasn't one of the fender bender or busted headlight variety. I soon learned the phrase "T-boned." The SUV clocked me square on the right side doors and drove me into the cars waiting at Constitution. The SUV toppled onto its side, and my Yellow cab crumpled on the right passenger side and stayed on all fours. I sat inside the cab, in silent shock and adrenaline swelling. A cop was on the scene instantly and asked if I was all right. I said "I don't know. I think so."

I grabbed my jacket and backpack and exited the vehicle. The passenger seat had slammed into my right side and a couple of my finger were jammed from holding onto the wheel. The fire department was on the scene, and staring at the wreck, they thought the same thing I did: "How did you open the door and walk out of that one?" I don't know.

A Hispanic family was in the SUV. They had a baby and several passengers. I said nothing to them. I didn't want to know them at all. I sat on the curb as the police and fire department checked my neck and back, continually monitoring my blood pressure. I sat stoically, in shock and trying to figure out what was injured on me.

Lots of 'ifs' to contemplate. If I'd had a passenger in the cab, they would have been killed. If the SUV T-boned the driver's side of the cab, I would have been killed. If I hadn't picked up the ride and just gone back to the yard, none of this would have happened. If I had been in a different part of town or taken a different route...and suddenly, the 'ifs' felt irrelevant. What happened, happened. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Since I was still in shock, the fireman said I should go to the hospital to be checked out. I walked toward the ambulance where I saw a familiar face. A guy named Vince who plays in a local rock band The United (which my band had played with a few times) was one of the EMTs. He smiled at me, and I couldn't help but smirk. He said "I wondered how long it would be before I picked up someone I knew." The wreck had officially become surreal.

I couldn't fist my right hand, my right side hurt, but nothing was broken. The passenger side of the cab was smashed in hard, and I didn't break anything. That big old Ford Crown Victoria crumpled in just the right places. Somebody built that car correctly. I have a habit of becoming eerily calm during crisis situations. My body wanted to freak out, but my mind slowed my gestures to a stare. Vince said I looked shook up. "I can't believe I opened the door and walked out of that mess." I still can't.

In the ER of the University Hospital, they put me in a side room, and a nurse checked me out with the same diagnosis as the EMTs: Bruised but not broken. I could hear one of the Hispanic ladies in the hallway. She was calm for a half hour but soon asked for painkillers. I hurt, but I knew exactly where and why. I was banged up, but it seemed lucky. I have no insurance, so I knew no one would see for a great long time. I waited until someone finally came to take care of the Hispanic woman, and I asked the nurse if I could refuse treatment. Far more urgent cases kept getting brought in, and I just wanted to go home. She gave me a piece of paper and thanked me for not yelling at her for the slow pace of treatment. It was the public hospital, and it's always full.

I called a cab to take me back to the yard, and I spoke to the cabbie on the way back. He said he had three accidents since driving the cab, but I knew he meant fender-benders. When he saw my cab that had been towed back, he couldn't believe I was alive. Neither can I. He didn't charge me for the ride, and I went in to the cashier and paid my lease for the day. I figured I should settle up for some reason.

I don't know if I still have a job (I'm due back on Tuesday), I don't know the fate of the Hispanic family (the police initially said they were okay), and I don't know who's fault it really was (I don't think it was mine). I do know that I'm one lucky son of a bitch regardless of what happens. I'm bruised and banged up particularly in the ribs on my right side, but I'm still not dead.

A cabbie called me yesterday to check how I was. "Nobody can figure out how you walked away from that. You're like a God around here, pulling a miracle off like that. You need some money?"

No, I'm all right. Battered around but okay. No matter what happens from now on, I know I've been granted one full-fledged miracle. All politics are put on hold while I heal. I'm just lucky to still be a part of this world. Hey, aren't we all?

Chris Jungle is grateful.