Untitled - very short

Anthony left the grocery store with a plastic bag in his left hand. He stared down 240th street, at the empty, dimming sky. He walked down the sidewalk along the lot, feeling euphoric about the weather. The sun had disappeared past the slanted horizon, and the sky was a calm blue. It was a predictable, May temperature and the air was completely still. As he continued to the corner, Anthony could tell that his senses were alert.
He stuck out his knuckle to press the germ coated crossing button. As he waited, a wealthy looking African-American woman approached him and reached around for the walk button. Anthony felt silly right after for not moving, but he assumed she knew he had pressed it, as he was facing the same way, clearly waiting to cross. He glanced back at the woman, holding eye contact for a bit longer than the social norm. She seemed to be in a good mood, as they shared a smile. The woman was wearing an overly tight white blazer, and a purse of the same shade. She seemed to be in her late 20’s, but Anthony didn’t have too much time to judge her, as the crossing light abruptly changed.
They both walked in a somewhat fast pace across the street, his bag knocked against his knee, twisting around his fingers. As they reached the corner, he noticed the woman stop for a moment beside him, and casually gaze around. Just before the woman left his peripherals, he noticed her step onto the street in a diagonal path. He smiled and continued forward, readjusting his grocery bag’s tight handle in his stiff fingers. Anthony inhaled a breath of confidence as he walked; the air seemed a bit colder than he was comfortable with.
Not a few steps later, a piercing screech of rubber on concrete was heard. Anthony painfully jerked his neck behind him to his left. Anthony’s fingers were equally as shocked, dropping his bag, he staggered backwards. In a blur, he watched the woman dragged along the street underneath a skidding car. Another cheap vehicle was spinning out of control toward the other end of the street. He then heard glass shattering, the shredding of metal against sand and cement, yells and screams from other drivers. Without breath, and with surprise that he could control his own shaking hands, Anthony grabbed his cell phone and dialled.
He heard the professional male voice of the operator, “What’s your emergency?” Anthony was choking on his own saliva; he had to calm down so he could do something. He dropped to his knees and pressed his palms to his wet, salty eyes, and held them there for lasting moment. After a long breath, he wiped his eyes dry, to try and see something.
In relief over his more controlled state, Anthony said a quick “sorry” to the annoyed woman on his phone, and stood up slowly against a fence. He cautiously raised his head to the street. The African-American woman was on the other sidewalk now, walked as she had been, in the same direction. An agitated driver pulled away from a halt at a traffic light, and Anthony guessed that was the source of the screech. He took more deep breaths as he walked over to his plain plastic grocery bag, and picked it up. He looked back at the woman, who was still walking. He looked at the intersection, which was now empty. He looked back at his original direction, stretched his shoulders, and continued walking.