The rain slows, so I turn down the wipers. The time on the dashboard tells me I’ve still got a half hour before midnight. I reach out for the radio dial again, and an NPR-perfect announcer’s voice fills the interior with news of some political scandal. I push the off button and look up.
A horse is standing in the middle of the road.
I stomp the brake and hold it down as the reverberations pulse up my leg. As the car tips downhill, it skids along slick pavement. I put my other foot on the brake, both of them pressing, both of them shaking. The back end of the car starts to swing around. It’s not stopping.
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