So we’re racing down this avenue right, Vic burning rubber me in the passenger seat when this fucking great cat jumps out like a fat orange tiger, teeth bared and hissing like it’s us who just jumped out in front of it but there’s no time to stop or even stop for breath at the thud that follows because whatever little girl owns this cat can get another one but we can’t steal another SUV, so we keep barrelling down the tarmac only suddenly I see the road sign and there’s a T for cul-de-sac and very quickly we run out of tarmac and I’m out the window.
The wind is cold against my teeth, so I close my mouth and my face sharpens and tightens as my stomach tightens as I begin to fall and I decide oh well I suppose it’s best if I just close my eyes now because I won’t want to see my brains fall out when my face rubs the concrete like a human shaped red paint roller.
Even with my eyes closed everything is still spinning like a rotisserie chicken and if I think hard enough I’m on the world’s worst rollercoaster with an asphalt ending and that ending is actually coming quite soon but there’s no real plan here and I’m still barrelling towards the earth and now, weighing up my options, I’m wondering will I actually die when I hit the deck or will I just be horribly maimed and disfigured beyond recognition although in all fairness, both could happen in quick and agonising succession.
My mother always said disfigurement would do me good considering women (and men for that matter) avoid me like the plague and having a face like mince-meat might at least gather some sympathy or a pitying look from a warm hearted individual but honestly, I always respected her candour and committal to the truth even if I did get my unfortunate looks from her.
At this point the breeze is cutting into me like the words of an icy, patronising co-worker and I’m wishing I did put on my big fleece rather than this paltry waterproof although, they do say fashion is pain but in all honestly, I don’t even look particularly fashionable, and it didn’t even fucking rain so that’s practicality out of the window and now I’m wondering if I come back as a ghost is this the outfit I’ll be wearing for all of eternity because if so I’ll need to take it up with God.
The suspense is no longer killing me as this whole dying process is a lot longer and more boring than I expected and I’m wishing the suspense would actually kill me because this is just borderline incoherent, and I would at least like my final thoughts to be something at least fairly philosophical or maybe something prayerful to curry favour with the little guy in the sky or that big fella in the floor.
I’m creeping open my eyes because I’m curious, like that cat I killed, and I really need to gauge how long I’ve got left and also what happened to Vic because he didn’t have a seatbelt on as well but maybe the steering wheel locked him in a bit but to be fair we were going dead fast so I doubt that but actually I would be fuming if I died and he lived I’m the one who actually stole the pissing car at least let me live to see a bit of credit even if it is in a prison cell while I’m horribly maimed for life.
The tarmac is maybe ten inches from my face which to be honest is a meaningless reference point because I don’t even really know how big an inch is let alone ten of them but it’s pretty close now and I think with the speed I’m at, I can make the safe assumption that I am indeed about to die either from the propulsion or from the injuries and skid marks my face is about to become.
A quick turn of my head reveals that Vic did indeed also get flung from the car like a discus and judging by his speed I can rest easy (forever) knowing that both of us will die so at least there’s some equality in our partnership for once even if he never did let me drive the cars especially when I think this incident probably proves I’m the better driver.
All in all, it was a pretty good life I actually wouldn’t change much because stealing cars is really fun, in fact I think my only regret is that I didn’t steal more.
