"Walking was a bit more difficult after his pratfall. His tailbone ached from colliding with the road. Tiny fragments of gravel were embedded into his palms, though none had broken the skin and produced any bleeding. Without slowing his pace, he dusted his hands off on his jeans.
The car that had nearly struck him had been some sort of a poor man’s sports car—an older Mustang or Charger, possibly a Chevy Camaro. It had been moving quickly, almost surely exceeding the posted speed limit..."