The collision felt accidental, but it was inevitable.
Our poor vehicle with bald tires, creaky brakes, filled with acrid and consuming exhaust fumes was totaled. The opaquely crackled windshield obscured the scene from inside and out.
I thought I’d died in the front seat. I saw him close his eyes as he was thrown from the car. After the sound of screeching and the bash of implosion, I heard only hissing. It was coming from my chest as I tried to breathe.
In hindsight, the campaign had damaged the road under repeated heavy truckloads of disrespect, anxiety and disgust. The location: the intersection of Liberal and Conservative. The time: late in the evening after we’d met our last obligation. We'd lost control of the vehicle as we swerved to avoid the election. The destination, never arrived at, was acceptance.