It was a long dirt road. It was the middle of the night. The moon hung ominously against the blue tapestry of the night sky. The air tasted stale, and not without a hint of dust and sand. I was standing at the front of the car, hood popped, staring intently at the engine. I have no idea why I did this. What was I hoping would happen? Did I think if I stared at it long enough, hard enough, it would spring back into life? No, I’d popped the hood because it was expected of me. Even with noone around, I had to look like I knew what I was doing.
I don’t know much about cars. I don’t know how the big metal bit makes the smaller metal bits work. I don’t even understand how turning the steering wheel changes the direction of the wheels. I rely heavily on a large chunk of metal, and I couldn’t even tell you how it works.
I’d seen this film before. If your car breaks down on a long dirt road you can be certain that you’re not going to have a happy ending. Not unless there’s a blonde in the passenger’s seat.