Ashok

"That couldn’t be my life flashing by", I recall thinking. I was watching the car's neatly engineered gleaming underside gently float over me. The wheels yearning for traction in vain.
"Wonder how he keeps it so clean?"
The sound of the car returning to the asphalt, crashing into oncoming traffic burst through the wall of silence. Don't think the cleanliness of the underside matters any more.
Why did it ever?