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And that's what we did. Last-minute instincts (or "spider-sense"), assured me that, if I'd stood still, I would have been pulled right under the car. I don't want to beat a dead horse or put too fine a point on this, but if not for my spider-sense and spider-like agility, I probably would have been killed (and, worse yet, I'd have missed my deadline and wouldn't have had a column this week). So I jumped straight up, lifted my legs and turned my head away (a technique I would later learn was the safest way to get hit by a car). I cleared the hood, and slammed into the windshield, crushing my right hand in between my body and the windshield. I'd extended my hand in a futile attempt to save myself (or shoot some web, maybe?). Adrenaline was still slowing everything down for me, but momentum was already doing its job so well that there was no real action I could take. All I could do was slowly evaluate the situation and really process everything that was happening. Oh, wow, I'm getting hit by a car! I can't believe I'm getting hit by a car! was my only thought. In hind site I probably could have made better use of my slowed down Matrix time.

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The cab stopped short after the impact, launching me forward, high into the air and then onto the street. I laid on my back for a full three seconds.

When I tell my grandchildren this story, I like to think that I'll lie about this next part. I like to think that, when they ask what I said as I rolled around on the pavement after being hit, I'll come up with some clever, badass line. Or, if not clever and badass, then, worst case scenario, classy. I hope that I don't tell them the truth, because, honestly, the first thing I said immediately after I got hit by a car, was ...