I always thought his business could kill me, but somehow I never suspected our publisher.
Driving down 71, just short of the 670 interchange, he changed lanes. Actually, he changed all of them as we spun across the interstate, giving us a wrenching view of the cars bearing toward us.
This was the first timw in my life when I could count the seconds between heartbeats.
There was luck. They all veered around us; those up the road slowed enough for the publisher to restore his Impala's traction and get us back into the exit lane.
We returned to the office without the help of the interstate.
2 comments:
omg. traumatizing and hilarious. i'm honored to have almost died in the back seat of Jim's Impala with you.
oops. this is actually Teter. On Brittiny's computer. I don't know how to be me.
Post a Comment