Joey knew the old man had somehow faked his pictures; after all, nobody could photograph the future. But then the future began to happen!
t as he drew away from the curb, Joey heard the crash. Squealing rubber, splintering glass, rending metal, perhaps a human scream ... compounded into an awful discord that ricocheted against the quiet brownstone fronts, building to a crescendo of metallic anguish.
After the first moment of surprise, Joey experienced the curious exaltation he always felt at a scene of violence. The trip wasn't a waste after all. He'd get a picture, and from the sound of the crash, it would be a good one.
As he clambered out of his car, camera ready, people were running down steps, cars were swinging off the boulevard--the first cluster of the curious was collecting.
With professional assurance, Joey brushed people aside and moved in. One car had been stopped at the intersection and the other had careened off the boulevard and smashed head-on into it.
Joey stopped on the crowd's inner edge and stared.
It was impossible. One car was an old sedan. The other, a sleek convertible. An old man with