Column: Bend in the Steel

Sometimes you only walk away with scratches. A photo posted by Eric Scott (@lofrothepirate) on Jun 30, 2015 at 6:27pm PDT

[Warning: The following column involves a description of a serious car accident.]

Two sounds in quick succession, so close together that, as I remember them now, I cannot tell which came first – the sound of the front right tire digging into the mud and gravel shoulder of the two-lane highway, or the sound of my wife seizing up in anticipation. I am driving, for the next few seconds, anyway. I turn the wheel, only thinking to escape the shoulder, but my turn is too hard. I try another.

Column: Oddi

 

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Part four of my columns on Iceland.

Afterlife

 

“I’ve got a question. You know Eric, right?” asked Tim. He and three more of my friends, Dylan and Lydia and Calvin, had just sat down to lunch. They were at a buffet off Highway 63 in Kirksville, Missouri, the town where we all went to college. I wasn’t there to see it; Tim didn’t tell me this story for months.