Move

 

You can't. There's some bullshit about the passive restraint giving way if you get pitched forward, so you don't, you know, get your shoulders both dislocated or anything like that. It happens in accidents where you get hit head-on.

But the restraint thing locks up--or maybe the whole car got so fucking pretzeled up that it did go slack and then seized up. All I know is it locked around me, like some kind of goddamned giant boa constrictor, stretched right across my ribcage. It's like it gave a gentle little squeeze to my heart and lungs, you know, then wrapped its tail around my spleen and guts.

Now the neighborhood comes out to play. There's nothing like a wreck to bring 'em all outdoors--better than a sideshow. Or watching your next door neighbor beat his wife's face into hamburger while you stand back behind your kitchen or living room screens and suck your teeth in disapproval, but never call 911--why bother, what's the use?

The wreck--us--it's a real spectacle without the guilt. It has nothing to do with you, it's like it just happened to wash up in your neighborhood.

Kinda like teevee.

Get a knife