Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
“Gavin fired me this morning.”
The pot stopped mid-tilt.
“The tall one with the hair.” She said it like a diagnosis.
“The tall one with the hair.”
She poured.
“For what?”
I told her.
The sedan on the shoulder of 18, the woman with her hand pressed to her chest, the ambulance doors, the clock at 8:22.
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