Hullabaloo
driving down the interstate on a very windy day suddenly we hit a wall an atmosphere of clay slowing down as fast as can was not quite fast enough looming in the windshield a pile of glass and rust modern brake assistance and divine intervention spared us and our bumper by a mere matter of inches a voice inside said, “Get yourself off this road post haste!” we inched our way into the grass as brakes squealed and cars pancaked highway driving in zero vis does not a pleasant drive make Poetry Scales 225
