All the Possibilities
Here’s a little ditty for a dark November night:
I could’ve died this summer. On my commute to work one early August morning, I turned a blind curve and encountered a truck barreling toward me on the wrong side of the road. My body reacted before my conscious mind could catch up; in the span of a single second, I turned the wheel sharply to the right, veered into the brush on the edge of the pavement, slammed hard on the brake, and watched as the driver looked up from his cell phone and swerved out of the way of an otherwise inevitable collision.
It was a good thing he didn’t hit me. His vehicle probably packed three times the poundage of my comparatively puny hybrid, and in spite of the five-star crash test ratings that Ford Fusions proudly sport, I’m not sure they’re built to withstand the head-on power of a charging Chevy.
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