A man in his thirties falls forwards through an abstract black space. And the entire letter-boxed frame of the film is revolving slowly.

One by one, people close to the man reach for his hand. They want to grab hold of him, to stop him falling forwards. But each time they manage to join hands with him, their grip fails, and he falls onwards and out of reach.

His partner. His mother. His father. His daughter. And finally his baby. Each gripping his hand, and then losing grip. Now he is falling backwards again – faster. With a terrible thud he is out of the abstract world and with a jolt he is motionless in a car seat.

Our letter-boxed frame revolves one last time, and we see that he is in a crashed car, upside down, dead.

Title: WHEN YOUR TYRES LOSE GRIP, YOU LOSE EVERYTHING. CHECK THEM REGULARLY.