It’s a sunny Friday afternoon in early autumn. I head down i-85 for the short drive from Charlotte to Asheville with the blue-ridge mountains in the waxing stages of fall on my mind. Despite being uncertain of the accuracy of the google map I hastily printed before I left, and the fact that I am exhausted from the week’s tribulations, I am eager to escape town for a couple days…

Forty-five minutes into my journey, I am dazed in thoughtless thought as Thom Yorke’s album, Eraser, began it’s final track. About a hundred yards ahead of me, an SUV suddenly veers from the far left lane of the highway to the grassy embankment on the right. The right bumper of the car rams the hill, spinning the car into a barrel roll, concaving the roof and compressing the door fames. Shocked and confused as to why the hell the driver veered off the road, I come to a quick halt and pull over next to the smoking car. I quickly exit and run the short distance to the wreck. All I hear is the screaming of frightened children and an empty driver’s seat. I expect to witness severe tragedy. A sinking feeling hits me as I round the car to the passenger side and see that the driver is somehow lodged in the passenger side of the car, right-side up in relation to the world, upside down in relation to the car, and not moving. Another guy joins me as we unsuccessfully try to open the doors and (absentmindedly) consider kicking a window out. A little boy somehow manages to reposition himself and unlock the door, freeing him and his sister. With a little more help, the mother emerges fully intact. By this time a small crowd has formed. As we all gather our wits back and take assurance that everyone is safe, one of the children proclaims to their mother in a sobbing and terrified voice “We’re going to be late to the movie!”