etc.

Somehow it escaped memory that around this time a year ago I was getting myself patched up from the car crash and alternating between feelings of extreme gratitude (“we’re alive!”), flip nonchalance (“it was just a little accident”), and depraved lechery (“wonder if the insurance company will pony up the cash for a deep-tissue massage?”). I’m not much for melodrama nor do I have much of a predilection for morbidity, but I sure do remember being somewhat humbled by the tangled mess of metal we had to pick through to get our personal belongings a day after the accident (when the car was in the tow lot accruing a final bill of $8000, which the insurance company did have to pony up the cash for). The other thing I remember was the malefic odour in the car, a potent mixture of burnt rubber and electrical fire smoke. That smell will forever represent a bizarre combination of fear and relief, so when they say that certain odours evoke certain memories, they’d be right.