The Internovella continued -

catch a train. On a train, at least in those days, you could drop off a bridge and onto a truck going anywhere - a journey of 10 or a thousand miles. He broke his ankle - dropped onto a carriage instead of a truck. The fucking pain, the blood the sticky out bone - no way was he going ten miles let alone a thousand. He crawled to the caboose, screaming: to some pain is a friend, but to him it hurt - he could not drop down onto the platform so instead he cried out, " help, help, help. "
Nobody heard - the companionship of metal on metal - curump curow, curomp curow, gotta get there, gotta get there provides a continuity on a train journey that rubber on tarmac - whirr - whirr - cannot compete with.

Then his brain kicked in - he had just killed his wife - to drop to the caboose would mean a certain meeting with the iron lady - but the pain