My friend Mal scored a three-month teaching contract in Russia for the summer. It was a great opportunity to gain some internationally recognised experience, but I couldn’t help but worry for his safety. I’m not hung up on the Iron Curtain or anything; my concern stems from Mal’s general lack of fortune. The poor guy was christened with a name that means ‘bad’ in Spanish, and it’s all been downhill since then. If Mal’s around and something can go wrong, it will, and, if there’s absolutely no chance of something going wrong, it will. He invited me out to celebrate his new job; I went along to offer my support. I suggested he be extra careful while on the overseas adventure; he replied by asking if I’d like to borrow his car for the three-month period. The arrangement would benefit us both: I would have the convenience of a vehicle, and his car would be kept in a garage. I accepted without question.
About a month later I received an email detailing Mal’s experience in the former Soviet state. It seemed my good friend’s luck had taken a turn; things were going along without fault. I was surprised by the positive news. Had Mal stayed at home there would be countless remarkable tales to relate. That afternoon I was sideswiped by a black SUV. No one was hurt in accident, but my perfect driving record and the small coupé were both destroyed. Mal was twelve thousand kilometers from his car when it was written off. I should’ve seen it coming.
About a month later I received an email detailing Mal’s experience in the former Soviet state. It seemed my good friend’s luck had taken a turn; things were going along without fault. I was surprised by the positive news. Had Mal stayed at home there would be countless remarkable tales to relate. That afternoon I was sideswiped by a black SUV. No one was hurt in accident, but my perfect driving record and the small coupé were both destroyed. Mal was twelve thousand kilometers from his car when it was written off. I should’ve seen it coming.