“There were kids down there. What else were we gonna do?”
No speech. No swagger. No performance.
Just confusion that anyone thought there had been another option.
That part stayed with me longer than the wreck itself.
Because we spend so much time arguing about what kind of people we are. Online. On television. In politics. In traffic. Everybody sorted into tribes and costumes and assumptions.
Bikers.
Truckers.
Teachers.
Immigrants.
Old men.
Young men.
City people.
Country people.
We build entire moral identities out of aesthetics.
And then reality arrives like a school bus sliding off a mountain.
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