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The digital clock glows red. Says three-thirty. I toss and turn, the night of the crash, the events since, all running through my mind. I see Josh's body twisted inside the mashed-up Ferrari. See it lying there stitched up under the sheet. Smell the familiar stench of the dead inside the morgue. Try and snort it out of my nose, even though it isn't there.
It's in my mind. Part of a big, twisted movie that plays on a loop. The stranger smoking the cigarette—a bright orange dot in the night. I zoom in close and see it burn. Taste the smoke. But I can't make out the face behind it.
The girl flashes into my mind. Only a split-second glance. She looks familiar. Where do I know her from? I turn over in bed again, listening to the crack of far-off gunfire. Sirens wailing in response.
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