IT’S JUST LIKE YOU see in the movies. The fat, meat-eating metal grill of the big truck coming up fast from behind. I see the truck in my side mirrors where objects are closer than they appear and I see it through the rearview from the point of view of an elongated hearse that, under normal conditions, might house a casket of the dearly departed.
Not a great time to be thinking of death.
The truck moves up on my tail. In the mirrors, I see the happy, shiny faces of the two rednecks. One of them smooth-shaven, the other sporting a ratty beard. Both of them hooting and hollering like they just bagged the biggest buck you ever did see. I toe-tap the gas and the hearse lurches forward. Eight cylinders of pure power. But the rednecks probably have a Hemi un
