“You’re going to be sensitive to light for a while.”
No shit.
“You’re my miracle,” says the woman.
The man called her my wife. Her hair is brown,
and she dabs her nose with a tissue. She’s crying.
“My miracle.”
I wish she’d lower her voice. I try to say that, but
my lips stick together. Pushing with my tongue, I pry them
apart and taste blood.
“He’s trying to speak!” she says.
“Fuck,” I say, though even to me, that’s not what
it sounds like. “Truck? His truck,” she says, “Oh, honey,
your truck is totaled.”
“Fuck,” I say.
“But thank God, you’re okay.”
“Fuck,” I shout which starts me coughing. My
brains bounce around inside my skull.
BOOM. CRASH. Burning rubber. My truck
rolling, tumbling, crunching over and over. “Fuck,
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