Buck up, buddy. In 1969, I had to pull a woman from a car she rammed into a 12 by 12 highway post and flipped at 40 mph, after I left 2001, waiting for me Daddy to come get us. He got the time wrong, and we were flying worse than she was. The car flipped very high, silhouetted in the lights behind, landed on it's top and skidded a hundred feet up to us. The top was smashed flat to the doors. I ran up, hoping I would not see a dead person. She was all bloody, but I couldn't get her door open. (This is what happens when you take drugs.) (Doggone it.)
We had to call the police, as no one seemed to notice her hwy exit. I was afraid of fire. Cops came, and my Dad, and the cops yelled at him for removing debris from the traffic flow. HE was NOT happy with them.
I wrote my name in the cop's book, as a witness:
"Oooooleeeeeeeeooooootoooo oook". |
