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girl raining glass and metal petals at the marriage of the 18-wheeler and my Accord. Forces from the collision pulled our bodies forward, but leather straps across our shoulders snapped us back, like a father snatching his drowning child out of the water. There was a sickening crack behind me. I could feel my heart pumping frantically, and I worried that one of my friends was seriously injured, or worse.
I couldn't allow myself to think like that right now. I was in no position, literally, to be making hypothetical assessments of anyone’s injuries.
The truck kept pushing in slow motion, and I wondered if it would ever stop. Cherry red metal bent and buckled under pressure, squeezi...
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