Max started his car on a high. He had just been selected to represent his country in the formula 1 racing championship. He had to thank the drug dealers for this. He laughed aloud in his drug-induced state. The doping committee had been none the wiser.
He had started slow and then zoomed ahead, leaving the other cars behind. He had taken a quick left. Bang! Why did his head hurt? In his semi-conscious state, Max realized that he was not on the circuits, but on the streets now. He had tried to run into a building. He looked back to see a couple of fruit carts toppled on the streets. Some platform dwellers were screaming at him. A policeman stood near his window, eying him grimly.
Written for Alastair’s photo fiction