The pole makes contact with the glass. I look away. I fix on a black man sitting childlike on the shoulder. He looks in shock, aggrieved, maybe drunk. My eyes pan back to the burning car.
Combustion roils from the hole in the windshield.
The Hispanic men flank over to my right and ready for another run at the burning car. My eyes fall to the pavement. I ponder the white lines of demarcation. I feel uneasy standing in the fast lane, then the irony of the moment's safety. A car with a dented fender crosses my field of vision.