I was jiggling along in the back of the paddy wagon, alone, in chains, trying to breathe through my mouth. The driver went to the far right lane to take the Arapahoe Road exit. An ugly red-headed guy in a yellow VW Bug honked at him because the red-head could see that we were going to hit the overpass in that far right lane. I don’t think the keeper-driver heard the honk, but even if he had, the yellow bug guy was hogging the next lane, which is where the overpass was high enough for us to pass safely.

We hit hard and the paddy wagon was jerky, running down the road with flying shards of cheap metal and crazy glass, puffing tortured bits of black-oiled smoke, slowing, finally dropping it’s top. I looked up at blue, knowing I was free, but how would a guy look running down the highway in chains? I looked up because I knew angels were taking me away. I had to leave with the angels. I was too gentle for the bullets that were about to splay me.