Where am I?

“Don’t take I-90 through Chicago.”

“Yes, Dad.”

A simple conversation, … that I ignored. Life’s short. Ignore your parents.

After I recovered from the airbag punching me in the face, I saw the remains of my Kia resting on sickly, yellow carpet.

On a ceiling?

No. The Kia rested on its roof, … upside down.

An office? It looked like an old 1970’s office after years of neglect, and some burst pipes.

“How did I get from I-90’s stop-and-go to this, … place?”

I tried my crumpled door, but it resisted. I release the seatbelt, and fell on my shoulder. That hurt. Not as bad as my leg, though. I looked up at my leg, and I must be in shock, because that did not look like a leg.

How did I crash in stop-and-go traffic? I remembered a falling, tumbling sensation, before a hard punch in the face.

I ended up climbing out the window, and falling onto the moist, smelly yellow carpet. Then my yellow world went black.

Wrecked car on roof in backrooms lobby.