Something — and I don’t know what that something is because, hey, it’s not my job — must be done to ensure the safety of pedestrians in crosswalks on Bridge Street.

It’s supposed to be America’s Main Street (we have the sign to prove it), not a blessed death trap.

Recently my friend and I were nearly wiped out by a guy in a truck barreling toward the bridge. While we weren’t donned in our festive apparel (we’re retired teachers and long ago lost all sense of merriment), it was early afternoon, and certainly we were clearly visible.

In the idiot driver’s defense, maybe he really has a thing for bridges. Perhaps he had to go to the bathroom. Could be a Republican and, thus, laws don’t apply to him.

Whatever the reason for his reckless driving, I’d like to be able to go from 5th Street Kitchen to Moores Heritage Farm Market on my feet and not by rescue squad.

I don’t ask for a lot in life. Please, Ashtabula, give me this.

Debra Cary


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