When I cross the street, I do so with gusto; if someone doesn’t yield, I silently curse them, though, concerned about their weaponry, I don’t make a rude gesture. It wouldn’t help, anyway.
And I hurry. I don’t loiter in the crosswalk. For one, it’s not very thoughtful to the drivers waiting. But more to the point, someone may come barreling through the red light and take me down. Again.
One head trauma was enough, thank you. Brain surgery, though helpful, is not fun.