BEING EATEN BY A CROCODILE

The rain adding its dreary greyness to the monotonous swishing of the windscreen wipers, joined neon lights bouncing off the surface of the road on this wet November night in a conspiracy highlighting not only the dark loneliness of the fields flashing past but also that other inner longing that went on searching for something different and more stimulating than doing the same things day after day. And so it was, that at a singular moment when he changed, gear and left the roundabout behind that fate and coincidence, intervening as they so often c did to change everything forever, stepped in to bring the car to a stop alongside the solitary, rain-swept figure waiting for a bus.