"Are you okay, honey?" Shivering and crawling, the scattered front screen broken glass scratching my hands, the obtrusive petrol fragrance first stinging my eyes, then cloaking, eclipsing the full moon. I was crying, mad as hell.
I recalled the rednecks at the traffic lights giving me the finger. Then, speeding the ancient Roman road, two-driveway wide, repaved recently, main access to Mortsel, a little village near Antwerp in Belgium, then crashing.
She was okay, but little did we know, the pendulum stirred, for the ninety-ninth time, again. Countdown has begun.
Only one thought emerged: "F..CK, home AGAIN!"
No comments:
Post a Comment