rock

"Why do we have to go to the police station?" he says sleepily.

We strap him in the back seat. There are crowds gathering outside a police station. There is no-one to leave him with at this late hour. "Just to count something," I say vaguely.

Main Street is dark. But as we near the station, we can just make out shadows of people.

There's the sudden sound of shots. Teargas? Gunshots? We turn off Main Street quickly, past the police station, round the back of the TelOne office.

Ahead, I can see the shapes of people running. A yellow shirt, someone with red trousers. They've obviously left Main Street, escaping whatever's been fired.

As we near -- our headlights full on, stupidly -- there are shouts. They're clearly angry. Yellow shirt (I think it's yellow shirt) throws something at the car. We accelerate. Against the blackness, I can make out clouds of what looks like smoke.

When we examine the car in safety we find that a rock two-thirds the size of a football has gone through a window in the bakkie part of the truck. The rock is still in the back. It's pointed. It looks like a broken piece of kerbstone.

The window is the one just behind where my son was sitting. A second or two later and it would have been his window.