His desperate need for a torrent, a precipice, a railroad track - no matter what, but instantly - made him appeal for the very last time to the topography of his past. And when, in front of him, a grinding whine came from behind the hump of the side street, swelling to full growth when it had overcome the grade, distending the night, already illuminating the descent with two ovals of yellowish light, about to hurtle downward - then, as if it were a dance, as if the ripple of that dance had carried him to stage centre, under this growing, grinning, megathundering mass, his partner in a crashing cracovienne, this thundering iron thing, this instantaneous cinema of dismemberment - that's it, drag me under, tear at my frailty - I'm travelling flattened, on my smacked-down face - hey, you're spinning me, don't rip me to pieces - you're shredding me, I've had enough... Zigzag gymnastics of lightning, spectogram of a thunderbolt's split seconds - and the film of life had burst.