Saturday, 2 January 2010
Mark frowned at the nose of his car.
There was no escaping it – the small, pink, rumpled, rubbery article folded into the radiator grill was almost certainly someone’s ear. The right one, to be exact.
He scratched his chin.
Now what? Remove it, obviously. But was he meant to wrap it in a bag of frozen peas, in case the owner wanted it back? Or was that just for fingers? Was there some lost property office that he could take it to? Should he put an ad in the paper? Donate it to someone? Just, you know, keep it?
He bent over and peered at his aural stowaway, like some flat, crinkled remora.
How the hell had that got in there in the first place? He felt a spasm of nausea at the thought of the weight of his metal car striking the weight of someone’s boney head wobbling on their skinny neck.
But he was pretty sure he would have noticed that. And there were no signs of any impact on his car. And he was fairly confident that he would have remembered being chased down the road by some livid, ear-sheared unfortunate. Had someone just stuffed it in there, like a crumpled crisp packet?
Still frowning, and without taking his eyes off the car, he edged up the drive and went to get some chopsticks.