Somewhere along the road, a young boy was playing with his football. Like every day after school, he sprinted to the garage and grabbed one of the balls. Usually, he picked the one with its leather almost completely torn off. It simply looked cooler than the newer ones, and that was precisely what the mischievous little boy was aiming for. Despite his mother’s countless attempts, she had failed miserably in throwing away “that disgusting excuse for a toy.” She would lose that battle for many years to come.
Meanwhile, the driver reached for his phone to change the playlist. On sunny days like these, he needed some more upbeat tunes, especially after a long day spent in meetings at the office. As he pressed the button, his eyes briefly glanced downward, and in that moment, he failed to recognize the grey, leathery lump tumbling across the asphalt. When his eyes refocused on the road, he saw a wide-eyed little boy staring at him from the side of the car, as if he had seen a ghost.
“You could have been killed!” yelled the boy’s mother.
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