The Last Song On An Album

A car knocked down my son Martin. He didn't seem hurt to bad, more
shaken, but it made me think of Raymond Carver's little boy, so we
rushed him to casualty. People always rush to casualty, don't they? No
one ever dawdles there, do they, but our taxi took an hour to arrive.
The driver kept apologising, giving us all these excuses about traffic
on the ring road and not being able to find the house. You don't miss a
car until something like this happens. Then everything gets expensive.
I didn't bother with a tip. In fact, he came running after us, because
when he counted, I hadn't given him enough. He caught up with us in the
signing in queue. We were next but one to the nurse and Martin was
starting to grizzle. He started shouting, calling me a thief. I didn't
loose my temper. I didn't have the energy to. I told him I've got more
to worry than late taxi's what with my little boy mown down, and no
husband to look after him. Well this taxi driver, he went red, started
saying sorry again.

He said 'I'm sorry love, I didn't realise the kid was sick.'
'He isn't sick. He got run down. And anyway, why did you think we came
here? Do you think we take day trips to the casualty department?'
He bit on his bottom lip. His top teeth were yellow, goofy looking,
made him look like a cartoon character. He looked down and shuffled his
feet. 'I though you might be coming to see your mother.'

--This is work in progress. If you would like me to finish it, please
email or vote. Thank you --