Seeing a motorbike accident on the way back from football

As sweat dried under our shin pads and he lay slide-tackled across the tarmac, being tired and alive was a kind of relief— the traffic stopped in both directions, drivers observing blue lights and bright jackets, the suburb held at a junction, and us the only things moving, skins aware of the sunlight, walking back to our houses, rhythmically filling our lungs.

Joe Caldwell