Drive Carefully
The engine goes on, and she sits on the tarmac drive, exhaust fumes and rumbling the only movement on the road. The radio goes on, and the headlights rise at the front, casting hedge shaped shadows across the front of the house. The DJ introduces Kylie and his CD goes on. The last one he made spins in the deck. Track one. Streetgangs.
Reverselightson, screech of tyres, two-point turn and we're off. Past Martha at number fifty-two, with her second child that isn't his on the way. With Dave at number thirty lying next to Cathy, as his wife sleeps soundly at twenty-six. With the Jaguar XJ sitting in front of number ten, and Mr Stewart and Miss Kenny getting out, not saying a word. Mr Stewart recognises the car as it passes, but he doesn't look, and he doesn't wave.
Track two. The Bridge.
Jason has been arguing with his wife. For two days now they haven't said a word to each other, he left a message on her phone yesterday asking her to call him back, saying they needed to talk it out, but she hasn't got back to him. He got a text message from his friend and neighbour saying he'd seen 'someone else', 'going in' and 'leaving late'. Apparently it was 'some bloke'. Jason changes gear. Jason runs another red light.
Track four. Cut Some Slack (Live).
She passes another petrol station as her empty light flashes, and she passes another child out far too late and doesn't concern herself with their stares. They look deep into her depths and turn to each other and whisper - as though she might overhear as she reaches another give way sign and indicates left. Then right. Then neither. Then right again. Then turns left.
Her reflection paints a picture of curves and fluid motion. The glass front of another high street supermarket curls her image into an entity of pure movement, A to B, an unbreaking line of lurid kinesis.
Track six. Real Life.
Jason screeches to a halt for a red light, as a night bus passes him on the crossing. He looks at his phone. No messages. He picks it up, dials out the number, and hits the accelerator as the amber light flashes. A boy in a red golf spots it early enough and slams on his breaks. Two rings, four, six, he hangs up. He looks down at the phone while he winds down the window. The small plastic Motorola cracks into exactly four sheets as it hits the road.
Track nine. Tick.
She pulls to a stop in front of a house. A kid is walking up the road, visible from all the mirrors on the car. She kills the engine. She turns off the lights. Time you take it, time you take it. The boy get closer and pulls a penny out of his pocket. You me wanna. He runs his hands along the boot, looks into the back seat. You make me wanna. He taps the back a couple of times with the coin. Tick, tick, tick. You look like shit. He scratches half an inch as the lights go on and he jumps out his skin. As quick as that she's in third gear and halfway down the road. Track ten. The Spirit Of St. Louis.
Jason screams obscenities at the windscreen. He stops at a red light only to argue bitterly with a businessman next to him, then veers dangerously towards him as they pull off. He glares at a woman who drives past him at a junction, and she feels a chill running down her spine. You can't teach new tricks to blue jeans. He follows her for a mile before she pulls into a petrol station and sits and waits. But it's free. To drop dead. He pulls off, dragging his load across four cars. We had a. Chance. To get violent.
Track eleven. Mr. Your On Fire Mr..
She sighs to a halt as a dog stands and stares back from the centre of a zebra crossing.
Track twelve. PDA.
Yours is the only version of my desertion that I could ever subscribe to. That is all that I can do.
She indicates left, a large haulage truck whips through a red light, people press horns and don't release them. She indicates right. She pulls out slowly, her rear light smudged with latent desire. Up into third. Then down into second as she starts to break for a crossing up ahead. She stops three inches behind the middle manager in front. He fumes and turns round, but the confusion that confronts him overrides it all and he copes in neutral and slips his car into first.
Jason tells the petrol station attendant exactly where to go as he thunders back away. He flicks a dagger look at a woman filling her Fiat with unleaded, and climbs back into the driving seat. Jason's doing forty before he refocuses. Picks up a tape, flicks it over, looks at it. Insert, press play, close eyes, volume up, lungs on full blast, windows down, and you mate! to the driver of the red Seat who expected him to take notice of the give way signs.
Track fifteen. My Red Hot Car (Girl).
She sits at the lights, as they change through. Red. Red amber flashes. Green. She sits as a the woman behind gets bored and slowly overtakes. She sits and waits through the next set. A twentysomething pulls up in a grey Alfa Romeo. He smiles to himself as he considers his life. The lights go through again, but he's happy for the excuse to go nowhere. Red. Amber. Green. He pulls off and glides around her, he nods and winks and goes back to his thoughts. Track sixteen. Keep Close. Her life reflects through her rear view mirror.
Jason picks up speed. Motorhead is ripping apart his speakers. Track seventeen. Winter: Lux Aeterna. She lets the beams of the seldom passers-by bounce off the bonnet, glint off the windscreen, and she cuts off her lights.
She revs her engine then turns it off, a final exhalation of fumes release from the exhaust. She changes down gear. Third. Second. First. Neutral. Reverse. Neutral. Jason grabs the wheel with both hands and presses harder on the accelerator. She press the button on the handbrake, once, Jason's eyes are now little higher than the dashboard, only anger holding back the tears, twice, his foot is all the way down. She releases the handbrake,
she drifts,
slowly,
towards the centre of the crossroad.
Into that orange crosshatched box that says,
(They collide, Jason doing ninety-seven and gaining. He doesn't look into the car, he hardly acknowledges it at all as the first tear streaks down his face. As it spins across the road sending shards and shrapnel everywhere, sending sparks flying and upholstery into the air. He closes his eyes. She doesn't feel a thing. Petrol blood splattered across the tarmac. Bone fracture glass scattered through the grass. He breathes in.)
no stopping.
Track eighteen skips in the player. Sugarman. He recorded it while the girl he loved was on the phone to him, he sung the words in false falsetto, as she cried and whispered. Let's go.
Reverselightson, screech of tyres, two-point turn and we're off. Past Martha at number fifty-two, with her second child that isn't his on the way. With Dave at number thirty lying next to Cathy, as his wife sleeps soundly at twenty-six. With the Jaguar XJ sitting in front of number ten, and Mr Stewart and Miss Kenny getting out, not saying a word. Mr Stewart recognises the car as it passes, but he doesn't look, and he doesn't wave.
Track two. The Bridge.
Jason has been arguing with his wife. For two days now they haven't said a word to each other, he left a message on her phone yesterday asking her to call him back, saying they needed to talk it out, but she hasn't got back to him. He got a text message from his friend and neighbour saying he'd seen 'someone else', 'going in' and 'leaving late'. Apparently it was 'some bloke'. Jason changes gear. Jason runs another red light.
Track four. Cut Some Slack (Live).
She passes another petrol station as her empty light flashes, and she passes another child out far too late and doesn't concern herself with their stares. They look deep into her depths and turn to each other and whisper - as though she might overhear as she reaches another give way sign and indicates left. Then right. Then neither. Then right again. Then turns left.
Her reflection paints a picture of curves and fluid motion. The glass front of another high street supermarket curls her image into an entity of pure movement, A to B, an unbreaking line of lurid kinesis.
Track six. Real Life.
Jason screeches to a halt for a red light, as a night bus passes him on the crossing. He looks at his phone. No messages. He picks it up, dials out the number, and hits the accelerator as the amber light flashes. A boy in a red golf spots it early enough and slams on his breaks. Two rings, four, six, he hangs up. He looks down at the phone while he winds down the window. The small plastic Motorola cracks into exactly four sheets as it hits the road.
Track nine. Tick.
She pulls to a stop in front of a house. A kid is walking up the road, visible from all the mirrors on the car. She kills the engine. She turns off the lights. Time you take it, time you take it. The boy get closer and pulls a penny out of his pocket. You me wanna. He runs his hands along the boot, looks into the back seat. You make me wanna. He taps the back a couple of times with the coin. Tick, tick, tick. You look like shit. He scratches half an inch as the lights go on and he jumps out his skin. As quick as that she's in third gear and halfway down the road. Track ten. The Spirit Of St. Louis.
Jason screams obscenities at the windscreen. He stops at a red light only to argue bitterly with a businessman next to him, then veers dangerously towards him as they pull off. He glares at a woman who drives past him at a junction, and she feels a chill running down her spine. You can't teach new tricks to blue jeans. He follows her for a mile before she pulls into a petrol station and sits and waits. But it's free. To drop dead. He pulls off, dragging his load across four cars. We had a. Chance. To get violent.
Track eleven. Mr. Your On Fire Mr..
She sighs to a halt as a dog stands and stares back from the centre of a zebra crossing.
Track twelve. PDA.
Yours is the only version of my desertion that I could ever subscribe to. That is all that I can do.
She indicates left, a large haulage truck whips through a red light, people press horns and don't release them. She indicates right. She pulls out slowly, her rear light smudged with latent desire. Up into third. Then down into second as she starts to break for a crossing up ahead. She stops three inches behind the middle manager in front. He fumes and turns round, but the confusion that confronts him overrides it all and he copes in neutral and slips his car into first.
Jason tells the petrol station attendant exactly where to go as he thunders back away. He flicks a dagger look at a woman filling her Fiat with unleaded, and climbs back into the driving seat. Jason's doing forty before he refocuses. Picks up a tape, flicks it over, looks at it. Insert, press play, close eyes, volume up, lungs on full blast, windows down, and you mate! to the driver of the red Seat who expected him to take notice of the give way signs.
Track fifteen. My Red Hot Car (Girl).
She sits at the lights, as they change through. Red. Red amber flashes. Green. She sits as a the woman behind gets bored and slowly overtakes. She sits and waits through the next set. A twentysomething pulls up in a grey Alfa Romeo. He smiles to himself as he considers his life. The lights go through again, but he's happy for the excuse to go nowhere. Red. Amber. Green. He pulls off and glides around her, he nods and winks and goes back to his thoughts. Track sixteen. Keep Close. Her life reflects through her rear view mirror.
Jason picks up speed. Motorhead is ripping apart his speakers. Track seventeen. Winter: Lux Aeterna. She lets the beams of the seldom passers-by bounce off the bonnet, glint off the windscreen, and she cuts off her lights.
She revs her engine then turns it off, a final exhalation of fumes release from the exhaust. She changes down gear. Third. Second. First. Neutral. Reverse. Neutral. Jason grabs the wheel with both hands and presses harder on the accelerator. She press the button on the handbrake, once, Jason's eyes are now little higher than the dashboard, only anger holding back the tears, twice, his foot is all the way down. She releases the handbrake,
she drifts,
slowly,
towards the centre of the crossroad.
Into that orange crosshatched box that says,
(They collide, Jason doing ninety-seven and gaining. He doesn't look into the car, he hardly acknowledges it at all as the first tear streaks down his face. As it spins across the road sending shards and shrapnel everywhere, sending sparks flying and upholstery into the air. He closes his eyes. She doesn't feel a thing. Petrol blood splattered across the tarmac. Bone fracture glass scattered through the grass. He breathes in.)
no stopping.
Track eighteen skips in the player. Sugarman. He recorded it while the girl he loved was on the phone to him, he sung the words in false falsetto, as she cried and whispered. Let's go.