Story of my grandfather. I guess he used to drink a lot. Like, way too much. One night he hit the bar on the way home from work and then drove home after it closed. The next morning he goes to his car and there’s a mangled tricycle somehow wedged in his grill and bumper.
No reports, and no blood on the car. I guess my grandparents called the police and hospitals to see if he hit a kid. Luckily, he hadn’t hit anyone, just the tricycle.
He never drank again.
Was goofing around free climbing some boulders on the top of a gorge with friends and I slipped. I remember rolling and rolling and coming finally to a stop about 40 feet from the edge.
Still freaks me out, sometimes I dream about it. It also freaks me out thinking about my friends and if I had gone over.
Was on the jury for a trial where a 70 year old drunk driver hit and killed a motorcyclist after making an illegal turn.
Police testified against him, all the evidence was against him, it was pretty cut and dry.
Go into deliberations after both parties rested and one woman refuses to convict him on most serious charge because he’s old.
She concedes on other charges, and refuses to switch because she’s doing us all a favor by convicting on lesser charges.
We sit there for hours trying to convince her, then a fellow male juror switches to the other side because he wants to go home. Someone else gets hungry, so they give up as well
Other people switch, jury can’t come to a decision, and can’t convict him on the major crime.
I won’t forget seeing the wife of the motorcyclist cry, his parents in disbelief and start to cry, his young daughter just sitting there quietly.
After Hurricane Katrina, the only way we could see coastline damage was from our TV plugged into a generator and barely catching a signal form the local TV station. It was about a week before we saw the helicopter shots of the coastline, even though we lived 2 miles from the beach.