There was a day. It was warm. Late spring. Halcyon days. First days of a house by the sea. You and me. By the sea. We read serious newspapers seriously. Each Sunday. Spread on a bed by the sea. From that small island we had created. Each new tide bought us closer to the change. Informed by newsprint. A change. In the days before social media. A Sunday drive. Small sports car. Japanese. Second owners. Hardly used. On the way back from The Moors. A juggernaut. White. Plain. No writing. The late Spring Sun. An open Japanese electric sunroof. So novel. You stood. I drove. You singing. As loud as you could. Open sunroof. Passing a juggernaut. Blood oozed from its metal creases. These were the early days of the change. Blood on a B-Road. You singing. You screaming. Passing Wrench Green. The wrench of death. Passing a juggernaut. The driver faceless.