Tyre Damage

I am at Tiger Wheel and Tyre after a puncture. Sales reps swarm around me, greet me – this stranger with money. Everything is black plastic and shiny fake granite smoothed down with use. Everywhere tyres are displayed on neon pedicles like jewelry. It smells of industrial solvents and glue not fit for children – that new car smell. I am assured that after what I’ve been through I need to have my wheels re-inspected, re-aligned, replaced. I am reminded of the tragedy that awaits a carefree attitude, the price of folly and negligence. The terms ‘driving’ and ‘dismembered’ are used interchangeably by the reps as they stare down my ignorance. “Danger to yourself and others”, squeaks a pimply teenager draped in a company golf shirt. I imagine the car, veering off the road into a pram causing a bystander to release the balloons they were holding as they gaze upon the collision. Already shaken by the prospective carnage, I catch sight of the acne on the rep’s face. “Whatever you think is best”, I whisper, brandishing my credit card at the boy. He squeaks in acceptance and then disappears or is stood on; I cannot tell.