It looked like a clean break. The blood was pooling around his arm.
"I must be in shock" he thought.
"If you are in shock can you be aware of it?" He wasn't sure and he wasn't sure if it mattered.
The front end of the car was steaming or smoking and it sounded like something in the motor was clicking. Other than that it was dead silence.
"FUCK!" He screamed.
The car's front end was in pieces and the tree he hit didn't look much better. There were bits of blue plastic laying all around the car.
He took a pull off the bottle of Bacardi 151 and then let it fall to the floor of the car still open. He could hear the contents draining out.
Glug-glug-glug
He reached behind him and grabbed his sweater from the back seat and wrapped it tight around the broken arm. It didn't hurt. He felt like he was accomplishing something, like he was in control of the situation, like he was responsible.
The driver's side door was stuck so he kicked it open with both feet while laying on the front seat. He stood in the warm sun and pulled a crumpled pack of camels from his jeans pocket. He lit the cigarette with a match while holding the book with the hand on his broken arm. Then he lit the book of matches, reached into the car and dropped the flame onto the spilt Bacardi.
He sat on the ground and watched as a police cruiser rolled slowly toward him.
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