...And this is Shin.

This story is about a guy named Shin. His name is not Shin. We'll call him that, however, to protect his image. Sadly, we live in a world where the truth about someone can't be revealed without their permission. Why the hell then, I ask, do you think it was hidden?
I digress: Shin. Shin, you see, is extremely stupid. We're extremely lucky to catch Shin working up to the stupidest thing he'll ever do, though he live to be a hundred- and we all know how the stupid linger. For this exclusive reportage you have me to thank. Don't mention it.
Moving on.
Shin was very bad at his job, or he wouldn't have been on the road at 2 pm the Friday we meet him. He would have missed his date with death because he'd still be in his cubicle at Drake, Drake and Waters, dealers in fraudulent stock options and leaky 401(k)'s. Shin was bad at his job; he was a terrible liar. As such, when his supervisor politely inquired of his whereabouts on the day previous- the day, it so happened, that Liverpool played away to Lyons- he said, for the seventy-third time, that he'd left the gas on in his flat.
Now there's nothing wrong with this lie, ideally. Clean, neat, irrefutable, no messy back-details to arrange, even hooks in the sympathy factor. However, every good liar knows to adapt to his environment. A supervisor at an unethical, unregistered stockbroker's is, generally, extremely unlikely to give even a fraction of a damn about the averted gas explosion at your cheap little council house, and is also very unlikely to buy the same story a fiftieth time. At the very best he might start praying for the thing to just happen already. That is good because it's just fantasies; we don't still buy the God thing, do we?
Bad scenario? You get axed. Clean, clinical, no amicable parting whatsoever.
Shin, therefore, was able to try the whole driving-while-griping-on-the-phone-to-your-ex-girlfriend-turned-confidante-about-why-your-boss-is-going-to-burn-in-hell thing.
Now it's okay to indulge in a bit of uncharitable biological classification; we all do it. It is, however, unwise to engage in said activity whilst locomoting at 120, no matter how much speeding improving your mood. When people do stupid things like that, there are things that happen, invariably.
One. You stray into the opposite lane when some guy annoyed by your fifteen-minute tenure in the fast lane overtakes you with much honking and name-calling, causing you to have to bend, idiot you are, looking for the phone the noise made you drop.
Two. A family van, approaches, containing family of six, driver of which van is the mother endeavouring to fit a sock onto the foot of five-year-old Greg while talking to the ex-husband who is supposed to pick Greg up at the airport. The mother also ascribes to the theory that speed is a mood elevator.
Three. You panic.
Four. She panics.
Five. All the kids scream, and she, shocked out of her panic, hits the brakes. Hard. The sudden wheel lock spins the van sideways, positioning the front half of the car directly in your projected path. Poor Greg looks to soon be mingled with his difficult sock.
Six. To prevent said mingling, you wrench the wheel to one side. It is often the case that in your panic you have already wrenched the wheel to one side already, in which case all is fine. Greg and his sock stay casual acquaintances- colleagues, if you will- thanks to your lightning-quick reflexes. All that is left now is for you to decelerate to a halt and cry your poor nerves cool again. It is considered extremely unwise to wrench the steering wheel the other way, thus heading the car back toward the family van sitting almost perpendicular to the road. That, people, would be a very stupid thing to do.
That is was our Shin did.
The mother, a model of lightning-quick thinking- except for when she said yes to Greg's dad, of course- lunged over and grabbed her son right after braking, pulled him to the floor, banging his head against the dashboard in the process. Greg wouldn't thank her for this though, as her action was wholly unnecessary: Shin's superhuman wheel-wrench was headed at a most obtuse angle. It was therefore the girl in the red Porsche, the one discussing fashion choices for her date later that weekend with her roommate, who got hit from the side.
(No, this is not a drive safety campaign. Swear.)
Shin, in accordance with the physics laws that say it's dumb to hit something at so high a speed, smashed into the wheel, then the faulty seat belt lock he was going to fix last Easter snapped back into action- one could almost hear the sleepy snort as it was rudely awoken- snapped into action and yanked him back into the headrest. Then his windshield shattered in a very cool stained-glass sort of pattern, then the car landed back on its rear wheels- he hadn't even noticed how it had upended with the impact- slamming him into the windowpane. He, in short, got ample excuse for not reporting to a job he no longer had, in the form of a most battered head and accompanying headache. Apart from this he was really quite unscathed.
The red-Porsche girl? She was killed on the spot.