Five-year-old Jimmy called police cars woo woo cars.
“Woo woo car, Mama!” He’d cry excitedly when one passed. She thought it was cute.
Thirty-year-old Jimmy no longer finds them cute. Cops bring fear and change. Like now, as he speeds down the highway, four sirens and four sets of lights chasing him just because he shot his ex, her new boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s young son. He regrets all three now, especially the boy. Not that it matters.
Four more cars pull into a blockade two hundred yards ahead.
“Woo woo cars,” he whispers as he accelerates. Time to end this.