Charlotte screamed.
Sitting beside me in our Ford Escape on the first day of vacation, my wife Charlotte and I were in fast-moving heavy traffic in Knoxville, Tennessee, heading to the mountains. In front of us, hemmed in on all sides, was an 18-wheeler hauling scrap lumber. Covered mostly by a tarp, the back left corner flapped in the wind. I’d noticed this abstractly, but my attention was focused on the truck itself. I was ready to hit the brakes if his tail lights came on or the distance bet...
No comments:
Post a Comment