Even Steven, my Karma balance, and the subtle flap of gossamer butterfly wings have joined forces to save me yet again.
On the way home from town, on the only straight stretch, nearing the grooved pavement high bridge over the river big, I saw a narrowly-avoided head-on collision.
An oncoming tiny blue car attempted to pass two vehicles. Because 55 miles per hour is not fast enough on two-lane blacktop, apparently. The driver surely saw the truck coming at him from about a half mile away. But still, he tried to pass the second car.
The gray pickup, about a hundred yards in front of me, slammed on the brakes just in time. The white SUV being passed also jammed on the brakes, and flashed headlights in the universal sign for "Cut in, I got your back." The fast-paced metal ballet was performed with feet to spare.
I could have been in the truck's position, had not the female Corrections Officer in front of me at the 44 oz. Diet Coke store politely informed the clerk that she was handing back more change than the CO had given her to begin with. "That should be a ten. Not a twenty. I can't leave here with more than I brought in."
Life. A game of inches and seconds and dollars.