On my way home from work the night before last, I pulled up behind a green pick-up truck next to Dehart’s. At first, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. We were just two cars waiting at a stop sign for a gap in the traffic.

When the gap came, the truck in front of me didn’t pull out. Huh, I thought. Seemed like enough room to me.

When the next gap came a moment later and the driver still didn’t make any move to pull out, I tapped my horn a couple times, as light and polite as I could manage. I peered into the cab to see if he was engaged in conversation with another passenger, but I could only make out one silhouette.

When another gap in the after-work traffic finally appeared and the brake lights on the pick-up continued their ignorant red glow, I leaned on the horn. I thought maybe the silhouette moved a little, but I couldn’t be sure. At any rate, the pickup certainly didn’t.

I checked the rear view – no one behind me – and threw my Jeep into park. I got out and walked up to driver’s side door, thinking something must be seriously wrong. If there was a problem with the vehicle, why hadn’t the driver gotten out or at least waved me around? The thought of a heart attack crossed my mind…

As I walked up, I noticed the window had been rolled down. The driver was slumped over, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed. Shit, oh, shit.

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