My near death experience, which perhaps didn't bring about any dramatic behavior changes, but cool enough in its own right.

It's the night of my 18th birthday, though not quite midnight so I'm still caught in the age of seventeen. I'm at Roanoke College, and me and some friends are running about between parties, looking for a great time and not really finding it. Or maybe we were, but I'm pretty biased about my whole experience at the college, so I'll never really clearly remember. But I do remember this, with absolutely vivid recollection;
We're at a street, getting ready to cross; someone in our group hurries across the street. Trusting his judgement, assuming he would not try to cross the street with oncoming traffic, I step out to make my way across without looking both ways. And, of course, there is a car, and it's going really fast, at least forty, and at the very last second of its passing, a clutch timing survival reflex that had somehow been latent for all of my sedentary white upper-middle class life rears its head when it is most needed, and I contort my entire body into a curved "C" shape around the contours of the blur of the automobile as it passed by me in the darkness, my face inches from the top ridge of the frame, the side view mirror grazing my belt and shirt as it made its way along.
And, after making it across the street into the back of my friend's car, I loudly recited a fight club quote that was absolutely god damn perfect for the situation, but no one had even seen the bloody movie much less read the book, so I just looked like an idiot. The end.