"Hay dere for crissake. . . ." a man is yelling at Gus from the curb. "Look out for de cars!"
A yelling mouth gaping under a visored cap, a green flag waving. "Godamighty I'm on the tracks." He yanks the horse's head round. A crash rips the wagon behind him. Cars, the gelding, a green flag, red houses whirl and crumble into blackness.