Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Truck Was the Color of My Father's Porsche When I Was Eleven

The most disturbing thing about the dream wasn't the person who accelerated to prevent the man in the truck from passing, or the amount of debris coming off the truck as it rolled, or the number of times it rolled, or the sight of the destroyed truck in the grass beside the freeway, but the nonchalance with which everyone drove on.

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