I am twisting my body in an unpleasant manner so as to look at the back seat of the car, having just noticed in the rear view mirror that a couple of babies are strapped snugly behind me. I holster my weapon, apparently out of fear of offending them. But given that I have been driving for ten straight miles, pistol in full view, without so much as a peep out of them this action seems a little unnecessary.
As I regard them, they are doing the same to me, but with doubled intensity. Their massive googly eyes lapsing in and out of focus. This focussing process seems to alternate between them – the one on the right spends thirty seconds with his ridiculous goggles boring deep into me, then seems to drift into consideration of something thirty metres behind my head, as he does this, his sister refocuses and is, as her brother was, now judging me and every action I have ever taken in my life. Then repeat.
The brother lets out a little gurgle as if to warn me that in the time I have spent contemplating my unintended travelling companions, I have veered a little into oncoming traffic and am about to have my life, and by accidental association theirs, cut short - especially short in their case - by an articulated lorry.
Which I am.
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