Laconic Teutonic

To cross the street Herr Biedermeyer made a firm election: the spot was safe – Gefahrengasse - strictly one-direction. But, looking south and stepping out, he got a sharp surprise: a car, approaching from the north, was hidden from his eyes. It knocked him in the air, and soon had sped away and gone. Herr Biedermeyer had a lot to muse and ponder on. No bones were broken, no blood shed: no blasphemy, no oaths: he knit his brow in thought, and frowned, and dusted-off his clothes. The German mind’s a splendid thing (think Schopenhauer, Kant): but nimbleness is not its bag – it’s no-one’s corybant. “The street’s one way, and thus,” surmised this latter-day Von Papen, “nothing hit me. I’m immune. No accident could happen.”