The new little Mazda slid into the corner too fast, and Wayne Rogan braced. He knew he was in trouble, and cursed the damned lamb-marking - making him late for footy. When the car hit the table drain, he cracked his head hard on the driver’s side window. Wayne never imagined a car would roll so slowly… He counted each gravel-kicking spin, until he lost consciousness on the third turn. He didn’t see how neatly the sideways Mazda picked the gap between the big strainer-post, and the even bigger road-side gum - Billy Slater screaming through the middle of the ruck… A life-saver. The ripping spinning car tore the fence away, and flew a decent torpedo punt into the farm’s front paddock, where it fell upside down against another big gum. Wayne hung bleeding and limp from the seatbelt.
Wayne’s old man Ted was following into town. He drove the farm ute straight through the same gap, yanked on the handbrake, and leapt from the cab. As Ted dragged his broken son through the misshapen window, Wayne came to, and thrashed wildly in a flat panic. He screamed, he swore… “Fuck! Fuck! Aw man… “, His senses slowly coming together, he stopped struggling, wiped blood from his eyes, and looked back at the wreck, “Aw - look at the car. Shit Dad, it’s a write-off. Fuck! Life sucks!”
The wiser man cradled his son’s head, “It’s better than the alternative.”