The airbag works and the crash happens, but not in the order I’ve wanted. Time is all mixed up and I can’t tell which comes first, middle or last—knocking a motorbike aside, shattering the birdbath, colliding with the house, hitting it so hard the plastic rain-gutter drops my windscreen.
At some moment in the mushroom cloud, the horn, the steam, the sawdust-smoke, I’m hauling Marty out of the backseat, leaving Jade to groan half-awake, and I’m dragging my big bro by his dreadlocks onto the street so we can sprint somewhere, anywhere, into the black night away from here, leaving Jade to be picked up and dangled in the air with a single powerful arm by an ogre in boxer shorts, an ogre with two Asian nurses clutching little babies, and a fat mum in a dressing gown and hair curlers coming to
