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Show (The Accident, p. 2) trickled from beneath the wreck, roots of an unseen tree. A man with suspenders bent down beside the rear door to check for others, but we were the only ones. A woman with a couple of blankets cradled in her arms kept calling, "Hose it down! Hose it down!" I listened to the sound of your breathing beside me. There was a smell of salt. A policeman ushered us to the squad car we were too afraid to enter. We sat on the fender and mumbled answers to his questions. Told him how we had just tunneled out from under a metal grave. |