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People can be very touchy about their cars. The problem facing me in court was to show that Hassan had not been reckless with a blue Volkswagen Golf

By Alex McBride   September 2005

In my late teens I lived in Somerville, a gentrifying suburb of Boston. I had a speed freak for a neighbour called Billy, who was irrationally protective of his car. If you walked near it, he’d run out shouting, “Don’t fuck with the car.” One day there was a commotion at Billy’s. I went to investigate. Billy was naked and running around his house breaking all the windows. Later, as Billy was being pushed to the ambulance strapped to a trolley, he lifted his head, stopped gibbering and, in a moment of earnest clarity said to his wife, “Look after…

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