I almost got hit by a car in St. Paul, at the same corner I was almost hit before. The first time, a bus was parked in the same direction as I was crossing the street and it was preparing to pull from the curb and drive ahead, but some elderly self-important jackass drove around it on the left and swerved in front of it to make a right turn. Directly into me, of course, as I was crossing. Driving around a bus like that to turn in front of it is absolutely illegal, but in 13 years of living here I've never seen this law enforced. The driver stopped just short of running me down, and I never saw him coming: the bus driver laying on his horn is what alerted me to the incident. I turned to look at the man and he of course looked away, glanced around his car, checked out his local environment. Nearly all Americans are completely unequipped to accept responsibility for their actions. Rebecca was hit by a car as a little girl and the driver got out and yelled at her for it. The driver did not view herself as culpable for hitting a little girl.
So, again, I was crossing the same street at the same time of day. There was no bus, just a guy in a silver sedan turning right into the pedestrians. There was no honking, so I didn't notice anything until his bumper stopped a foot from my left knee. Again, I turned to look at the driver, who was suddenly interested in examining his left-hand blind spot and the architecture kitty-corner from his car.
All three of the adults depicted above likely consider themselves basically decent people. No matter how often they commit the described activities, they consider them anomalies, beneath consideration, and no indication of their character.
But to end on a positive note, at least Temple has closed. For about a year there have been garish billboards for an expensive, pretentious restaurant called Temple. The one ad that springs to mind features a woman in gauzy fancified belly-dancer garments (think 'I Dream of Jeannie') holding a hurricane lantern before her as she wanders into the desert in the middle of the night. Because I'm sure that happened all the time. To this day, Bedouin women like to dress up in as little as possible and just rove into the sandy wasteland of Sinai Peninsula, round about midnight, carrying nothing but a light source crafted by some unrelated foreign culture. Nothing suggests a "temple" more than some harem slut crawling over dunes in pitch-blackness, except maybe sushi.
They gained some buzz, not for their arrogantly overpriced, mediocre fare but for shocking Midwesterners with a cuisine stunt that was hot in Japan 20 years ago: nude sushi. This is where you make a naked woman lie on a table and you cover her in food, and fully clothed people titillate themselves by removing this food. Man, if Temple could've held out another year or so, maybe they could have cleared out a warehouse to construct a traditional Roman vomitorium, or stage public giraffe slayings.