He pointed at his arm and throat. “Still recovering from my wounds.”
I wanted to hear more about the flip. “About the horizon,” I said. “What happened in the car?”
“Fletcher came over,” said Grant. “Before the ambulance came, Fletcher was at the car, staring through the window at us. He smashed the glass with his elbow and reached inside. I remembered his paper in that moment, how steeped it was in death, especially the inevitability of death. It was like the grim reaper himself was grabbing for me. It was more than a little unnerving, let me tell you.”
I had not thought Fletcher’s paper particularly steeped in death, as Grant had put it, but I did see how Grant might have construed it as such, given his circumstances at the time. “I would have been scared shitless,” I said.
“Exactly,”
