He shouldn’t

He shouldn’t even be driving, officer,

The old woman said. And she fished a hanky out of her black handbag and wetly and volubly blew her nose. We were standing on her once pristine driveway, looking at the two scorched lines of mordant black rubber that stretched away into the distance.

“We were all in the sitting room when he sat bolt upright, said bugger this, and snatched the car keys.”

Inside, the guests milled politely, nibbling egg and cress sandwiches.

In the corner, his coffin lay across two trestle tables, looking as empty and useless as a wheel-less hotrod.


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