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True, Spats. . .very true.
Back when I was growing up, there was a motorcycle shop in town where all the would be bad guys hung out. There was this one guy who would come past the shop and stand up on the seat of his motorcycle. Just past the shop was a railroad bridge and the road curved to the right. He would guide the bike under the bridge and around the curve. Then one day, just around the curve, a car broke down and he hit it and got killed.
The thing that separates a lot of us from those who did not make it to adulthood, is the bad things that could have come together to kill us, for whatever reason, didn't. For others, the luck of the draw was against them.
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Geetarman 
Carpe Cerveza
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