Man, I would die for an adventure.

October 28, 2010 § Leave a comment

First night in Rome.

No you won’t fool the children of the revolution”

(two Rolls Royce’s short)

Children of the Revolution – T.Rex

When you start a night with such reckless sense of indifference towards authority you are bound to get in trouble. If you are English, drunken, in a group and in a foreign city you are bound to get in trouble. If you partake in acts of petty vandalism and vandalism of a police car then you are bound to get in trouble.

Our problems started early this morning. Well in fact, they outdate the morning by a long way, but our immediate problems started around 2 am local time. Mossy had decided that it would be a good idea to mimic The Rendezvous, a famous piece of art in which an artist strapped a camera to the front of a vintage Ferrari and let his friend, a former F1 driver none the less, to rag the car through the streets early morning Paris. It is truly beautiful and I hope you seek it out.

But ladies and gentlemen, we were not in Paris, we did not have a vintage Ferrari, and Mossy could drive but he was no ex F1 driver especially not with a third of a bottle of Sam in him and Maxi screaming and waving the Bandera de México out the sun roof. The engine whined and screamed as Mossy snatched between gears his eyes fixed intent over the wheel, Maxi was screaming and yelling about Spanish bombs in Andalucía. We hit a right hard and the back stepped out, Mossy held it, in such a small car it is impressive to even get the back to step out in such a way, Maxi rattled around the edges of the roof as the tires squealed under the speed, I just sat fascinated by the whole spectacle of it all. The cab smelt of stale cigarettes sambucca, sweat and burnt rubber. The engine noise was battering and relentless like working in a factory that was hurtling through space with a deranged Mexican screaming out of the window. The lights stayed green for as and we hurtled though another set. The music, the screeching rubber, the high pitch wail of the engine over the high tempo music and foreign screaming, truly I was in the company of madmen and madmen were in the company of me.

We had been carrying on that alarming pace for too long, any unit of time to be acting like that is too long as we rattled through back alley after back road that run parallel to the central roads of Rome. The car squealed one last time as we took a right onto the Via delle Muratte, the back had really kicked out this time and was coming around, we were doing about 60 and started to snatch at the wheel wrestling it like the captain of a pirate ship, Maxi swayed in sunroof, he had lost control, we all had, it became that moment in a car crash were you just know that there’s nothing to do now and in a few adrenaline filled seconds all you will be able to do will to take into account the damage that has happened to your body, you brace you hope and you pray.

The momentum is was so strong, so constant, like a run away boat. We clipped the curve carried on going up, the car tilted to a 45 degree to the right. The engine must have been whaling louder because the revs were high and the wheels were spinning but I couldn’t hear it. We hung in the air at 45 degrees for a second about 3 feet from the ground. It’s a cliché, but it was slow mo, my stomach dipped and we were heading down again, here came the floor. We couldn’t tell our exact angle, we knew it was a fifty/fifty split whether when the right tire landed it would set us straight on put us onto the right side.

We lunged forward as the wheel set us straight at considerable damage to the wheel arch, but that was the least of our problems the car bounced, wobbled and at 50 miles an hour crashed head on into the bonnet of a parked car, we recoiled and back wheeled over the road, the car came to a dead stop when the back tires hit the opposite curb.

When I came too I was sat in what used to be the passenger seat. The front left stanchion had caved in and was an inch from my face, I wasn’t sure how much was booze and how much was concussion. The cab was smoking out, thick white followed by black smoke. What used to be the front of the car had basically become the middle. I began to choke and had to get out of it. I popped my seat belt and went for the handle, it took me a good kick to push the door through. I rolled over and hit the pavement. I was cut up and the broken glass didn’t help. My legs had been in the foot well and had suffered a pretty bad crushing. My head felt like it was just shrapnel, rattling around, thoughts bouncing about but not really meaning anything. A view of the car, yes, that’s what I needed. I crawled across the road trailing my legs behind, I felt a little battered and bruised but no breaks. I was still spinning upstairs I could feel the warm trickle of blood. I had crawled away enough now to get broad view of the car. I rolled back and looked at the wreck.

The bonnet was crumpled up to the middle of the front wheel arches and was steaming up. There was an easy quite other a subtle hiss of escaping steam. I waited in it the delicious ignorance of the moment, for the moment I didn’t know about the others, but that’s better than knowing that they are dead.

Mossy had popped his door out and was lying facedown on the Italian pavement groaning and spitting up blood. But what of Maxi? Fuck, that tit had been dicking about in the sunroof, I looked around some locals had gathered to Mossy and a crowd were further down the road. I got up to my knees took a right step forward but ended up back on the floor, another attempt and I was up. A crowd was gathering. I stumbled over to Mossy and grabbed him by the shoulders and started to drag him away from the car, the back seat had smashed and I pulled the guitar out, we were five meters from the car when I sat him down. We sat and looked at the car, the one we hit was a four by four and suffered minimal damage and the fire that had caused the smoke was starting to be visible. That was when I realised the odd way the crowd had laid themselves out, a few staring at the car, a few at us, but a large group, 20 meters from me, with their backs to us. I knew then that surely Maxi was in the middle of that. I started stumbling toward the crowd, suddenly aware of the glass and blood in my hair, the seemingly endless crowd parted, and there in the middle of them all, crumpled up as a bag of bones was dear Maxi Dos Santos, with a woman leaning over him with a simply say “Uomo giovane, penso che stai morendo, penso che stai morendo”.


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