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The hubcap flew through the air in a subtle curve, striking the asphalt with a muted “twang” of sorts, where it spun and rocked in a lazy elliptical manner, not quite in a circular motion but instead in more of an ovular shape, with subtle exceptions that were small dips caused by cracks on the road, for a period of time which seemed to stretch nearly, but not quite, into eternity but was in all actuality a period of approximately six seconds and five-eighths of a second, not including the small amount of time during which it proceeded to rattle and bounce on the pavement before coming to an almost state of rest (the result of the ground being sloped slightly at a downwards angle where the plate had just happened to meet the asphalt), and as I, driving my all-terrain four-runner vehicle in a northeastern direction along that same busy section of road, watched in silent fascination in the seemingly long moments it took for it to stop its languid twirl I was vaguely, but not anywhere near completely, aware of a diminutive, needling voice that wasn’t really a voice nestled somewhere to the back and a little to the right of my conscious mind trying to inform me that it would be in my best interests if I should turn my head at least 60 degrees to the right and watch the road, instead of the hypnotic spinning of the hubcap, before I was unexpectedly, and quite literally, abruptly jolted back into the relative idea called reality as the nose part of my car suddenly met, in a rather painful crashing, crunching sound, the so-called posterior of another.

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