Sometimes she'd cross the street right in front of cars, not because of suicidal tendencies but for the sake of a certain feeling of control when the cars would stop in order to prevent her untimely death under their wheels, and the raging drivers only added to her triumph. What was the point in watching out, anyway; if she were to survive, she would; if not, it would look like an accident, or the result of carelessness and no one would blame her. Living on just for the sake of it, the sake of a scent of some shady opportunity that may or may not be taken- this wasn't for her; even less so, considering that she was only able to find pleasure in life of she'd close her eyes to all the bullshit and focus on those few crumbs of happiness she was granted. But walking through life with her eyes closed metaphorically was just half of the glass; it would, in the end, lead to a crash on the metaphorical level which was far worse than getting hit by an actual car. Therefore, her closing of the eyes and crossing the road in front of an approaching Porsche was some sort of nihilistic auto-da-fé. Tyres squealed, a bald man shouted something not very delicate and she knew that for an uncertain amount of time, life would go on.