Wipeout.

I always walk down the other side of Salamander Street for fear of boxing gloves on sticks popping out of the pipes.

(As I waited for a pedestrian to arrive into shot, every driver in every car that went past me looked at me as if I was insane. All of them except one. A toot of the horn, a friendly wave and an understanding look in his eye. It could only be another blipster.)