“If you pass the scene of a car accident, don’t stare.”
“If someone tries to hitch a ride at midnight, don’t stop unless you have to.”
“And don’t think driving a big rig makes you so intimidating that trouble won’t come looking for you.”
Those were the warnings my Master gave me.
For more than ten years, I kept them close to heart.
But tonight, I made an exception.
At midnight, I came across a family of four trying to flag me down.
The moment the husband saw my headlights, he dropped to his knees at the roadside and kept kowtowing.
Their black sedan was sitting crookedly off to the side, as if it had broken down.
All four of them looked badly shaken. I let them climb into my truck.
Pale with fear, the husband told me that a strange red sports car had been chasing them along the mountain road just moments ago.
I told him not to worry. I was driving a heavy truck; no car would dare mess with me.
Just then, the radio began reporting a traffic accident. On the very stretch of mountain road we were driving along, a red sports car and a black sedan had been involved in a serious crash.
The driver of the red sports car had died at the scene.
