Nic begins a story when holy shit! the car ahead of us hits a pole in the median of Hennepin and sails through the air. We watch between the wipers/through the drops as the vehicle does a quarter turn considers flipping clean over but nosedives instead into the concrete CRUNCH I panic pumping brakes barely stopping on the slick road shit. Shit. Shit. Twenty feet closer, ten miles faster, if the rain were falling harder, Nic, we could be dead.
I pull over and we race out, prepared to do what needs to be done, wet with sweat from dancing just minutes old and the rain that’s been falling for weeks. In my mind my friend runs for help, and I hold the hand of a dying stranger pleading just a little longer wait let me imagine your hopes fears dreams what flashes before your eyes, but no such sickdeep—he’s out of his car before we reach him shaken, the three of us blinking at the shattered glints across the street, the mail from his dashboard fifteen feet away.
His air bags exploded, his stereo still blaring, the man asks stupidly, “What happened? What happened?” hooking the words from off our tongues and tossing them back dead.
New to me music of the week: From Autumn To Ashes