We were headed on our way down the foggy mountain road. It was one of those winding ones, the ones that you always read about in books. The kind that make you feel like they could go anywhere. For all we knew this road could take us anywhere. It was the mischievous kind of road. The fog was like a great white blanket, covering the area around the car. Except, unlike a blanket, it was cold. Also, unlike a blanket, the fog was not made out of cotton.

Driving with the music turned up all the way is always the best. We were dancing and singing as we made our way down along the bends of the road. Everything was fine.

That is, everything was fine until we hit the truck.