So anyway, then there is an awful bang. Not one you'd recognise. The men put down their pints firmly and rush outside like men do. The bar empty but for two girls. We look at each other and wait for The Men to come back with The News. Like girls do. A car has mounted the pavement, snow-ploughing a litter bin and uprooting a traffic sign neither of which I recall being there minutes before. The wreck mangled against the other side of the wall where we sit. The men come back redundant and take up their pints. Noone to wallop chase or resuscitate.
The headlights are still blaring and it's all tangled up in black and blue hazard tape. Two lads crunch over the broken glass by me hands grimly rammed in jacket pockets.
Mustae been a burd parked tha'
Aye. Says his pal.