You know who you are, you beast.

Saturday July 11. A quiet, warm, sunny evening shortly before 8pm.

On our way to see Donovan at the Everyman Theatre, we’d passed City Hall, crossed Parnell Bridge, and were now paused at the traffic lights with the bus office to our right.

An enormous Mercedes pulled up next to us. The driver, a handsome man in his thirties, was on his phone to a woman; his window was rolled down; their conversation was punctuated by much laughter.

As we waited for the lights to change, I noticed that on our left, a young woman pushing a baby buggy had stopped at the edge of the pavement and was preparing to cross.

Seconds after she stepped out into this wide road, the lights turned green.

“Oh, oh,” I said. Rather unwisely, she elected to keep going. We remained stationary, allowing her to pass in front of our car.

However, as she moved in front of the Mercedes, the engine growled and the big vehicle rolled forward. Then the driver gunned the engine.

We watched in horrified disbelief as the young woman glanced up and to her right, her face contorting in shock and fear.

She broke into a dreadful shambling run, trying to shield the buggy with a body still soft from childbirth, as the huge car bore down on her and her infant.

He hunted her. I use the word ‘hunted’, because by the time that panic-stricken young........

© Evening Echo