Part Two – (see part one below dated 3/2/2013) Tuesday I forced myself to stop at the police station to pick up the crash report. They couldn’t call it an accident report; it has to be a crash report. Merely asking for it by that name made me nauseous, but nausea is now a constant way of life for me. So I wait and wait and wait, and finally get the crash report. Because my heart is beating so hard, and the blood is rushing in my head, I thought the woman said “ $72.00”. When I was able to stammer again, and asked her, she said no, I said “That’s an even $2.” So I tucked it safely in my purse and headed oh so carefully off to work, through THE intersection. I got an update on “the boy”, who is actually a 25 year old Army Read more
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