I was in a bad mood on my way to work yesterday.
Shortly after getting off the bus, I stepped in a rather deep pothole (remember, I'm still half-blind), twisted my ankle, and fell onto my knees - scraping them against the jagged edge of the pothole and gouging them rather badly. Tore my jeans pretty badly, too.
After cursing a blue streak as I limped the remaining block to work, I happened upon one of the pothole patching trucks making its rounds. Too late for me, my friend!
So, I stopped for a second, turned around, and walked back to the pothole... just in time to see the patching truck vomit its black asphalt into the hole, filling it rather messily. The street looked like a filthy checkerboard of grey and black... old patches, new patches, more deep potholes, and barely any real concrete showing.
I looked at another particularily deep pothole and thought, "You know, if this pothole were a gouge in my leg, I sure as Hell wouldn't trust a band-aid to fix it, I'd get it cleaned and stitched up."
Which brings me to my point: our inner-city streets need more than just a band-aid solution.
*** TO BE CONTINUED ***
(CJ's note: This is a work-in-progress. I'll expand upon the point in a day or so - my train of thought has derailed. Please refrain from leaving comments on this piece until it's done!)