The traffic ambled on at a pace not noticeably slower than of norm. Children rubbed their names onto car windows impatient to be away from the crawl, old enough to realise that education is a drawl. Their parents cracked quips at Breakfast show jokes upon the radio; too exasperated, too infuriated, too under appreciated to recognise that their nine to five was a twenty four hour commitment. Exhaust fumes plumed as the exhausted changed gear. Pressing pedals which would steadily get them nowhere.  

To the naked eye or to a passer by there is little oddity in a man waiting for a bus. Adorned in business suit; crisp pressed shirt, careful knotted tie (subtle blue to match Summer skies) and one black polished Brogue. His hair slicked to one side, slimy, stuck to the skull. Fingernails manicured and soft skin weeping at the myth of ‘calluses’, hands grazed with dirt. One would presume that only the trivial could be said, at best, of a man travelling to work.

Heads turned, twisting off of their necks. Some would say that heads rolled. They clunked down the gutter like marbles, glassy faced and slightly green, no stopping. Busses only. From curdling throats their unhinged jaws sang siren songs. Heads exposed on the road! Watch your speed.

His case was brief. He told the roads, he told the wheels, he told the double yellow lines with their custard consistency; their inability to feel (the blatant rage of a haemorrhaging public, they all had fine parking. Parking fine). He told the bins and overflowed. He told the grids with one ear pressed against the curb but they were absurd, gurgling with amusement. He told the traffic lights, saw red. Honestly!

He cried.

Uniforms jogged past, late for work. Backwards words on lorry fronts and mirrored warnings with their blue strobe lights, tip toeing amongst the gridlock, jacking up eyebrows. Engines wailed in the middle distance; their beetle shell bodies glistening with the anticipation of cutting and severing, metal teeth grinding. Sweat beads. Blood spills.  White noise spilled like froth from the traffic updates, windows were wound up or down, winking to one another.  

Rainbows shivered in petrol streams as the birds perched up high on their bough pedestals, they passed pleasantries, chattering smile free songs. It poured. He had forgotten his umbrella. The suit drizzled from grey to black, thick streaks of dirty water which bubbled tar-like to be dabbled with a quartered handkerchief. A tap for each eye, a bit of pressure, a matter of hydrogen and aqua. He dried away the daze with red initialled cotton, dripping, crimson.

Iron willed itself into the air, an unpleasant tang which found noses and tongues to spoil. Sparks flew, fireworks for the dawn pale and horrifying in their destructive brilliance. Their flare for fire. Ahead a heap of jumbled motor, leather seats and belted waists. Crisp white blouse, business skirt, one coy coloured kitten heel at a jaunty angle. A broken foot. Her eyes naked. Pretty coils of hair cooped up and tangled in with arms, legs. A barren drivers side. Ejected. Killed on impact.


He cried.