'"Get in the car."
I was on the verandah, fuelling my hair with henna mud, when I heard that.
"Just get in the fucking car."
It's a nasty road, no room for a mistakes or for domestics to play out. The voice came from behind the peppermint trees and roses that screen traffic from my life but it was so close it could have been in my own head. I looked through the screen of green to see a blue-hoody-boy sticking resolutely to his path.
"Get in the car, fer fuck's sake!" I could hear the father's frustration ... and fear.
The car revved and stopped again.
"What's wrong with you, boy!"
A door slammed. The car rumbled down to the stop sign. I headed for the driveway to check if the teenager was okay, knowing I looked like some kind of Dogon dogstar-worshipping mud man. He was in the car. He wasn't okay, his Dad wasn't okay. Their Sunday was turning out a whole hatful of shite.