Bonnie--er, Bobby--and Clyde were making a relatively clean getaway until rapid global cooling snapped their getaway route sharply to starboard. Well, our starboard, their port--uh, stage port--damn. Anyway, the car quit moving, horizontally that is.
Bobby glances left, er, right--well, towards the widening fissure in the earth (off-stage) to form a clear picture in his mind of what plummeting into the widening fissure will actually feel like. Clyde fixes his/her concentration on his/her rifle barrel in a futile attempt to ignore the inevitable.
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