I was driving down Holiday Drive. It was kind of bendy. I was enjoying the freedom of owning a new vehicle. When I was a girl I dreamed of owning an orange or peach-toned Corvette, and driving it down Holiday Drive. This was a blue Ford.
The wind was blowing through my hair. I had my window rolled down. The wind was tossing my hair. I almost laughed carelessly.
I hit someone.
“Hello? 911? I just killed somebody.”
“I am quite alive.”
“I’m basically a murderer.”
“A sprain, just a sprain.”
“Although my intestines do appear to be emerging.”
“I am a worthless, murderer.”
“They have definitely emerged. They have made their debut.”
“I am a terrible person. People might even say that. Do people sometimes even go so far as that?”
“A bit small, for a gall bladder. I am disappointed.”
“If I kill any more people, now, I’ll be labelled a serial killer.”
“Is this what happens to freedom? Am I getting older?”
A lot of actors have died on Holiday Drive.
“These are the adrenals. It is happening en masse now. It is like a fire drill.”
“I don’t think I’ll mention this to Janice or anyone. I don’t think I will. Because … would there even really be an advantage?”
“Have you any toilet paper?”