Good Omens

by Terry Pratchett

‘I was going to ask you the same thing – Watch out for that pedestrian!’ ‘It’s on the street, it knows the risks it’s taking!’ said Crowley, easing the accelerating car between a parked car and a taxi and leaving a space which would have barely accepted even the best credit card. ‘Watch the road! Watch the road! Where is this hospital, anyway?’ ‘Somewhere south of Oxford!’ Aziraphale grabbed the dashboard. ‘You can’t do ninety miles an hour in Central London!’ Crowley peered at the dial. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘You’ll get us killed!’ Aziraphale hesitated. ‘Inconveniently discorporated,’ he corrected, lamely, relaxing a little. ‘Anyway, you might kill other people.’ Crowley shrugged. The angel had never really come to grips with the twentieth century, and didn’t realize that it is perfectly possible to do ninety miles an hour down Oxford Street. You just arranged matters so that no one was in the way. And since everyone knew that it was impossible to do ninety miles an hour down Oxford Street, no one noticed.