The river surged, and he clung to the raft. Mouth, blue with cold, mumbled a prayer to a god he didn’t know. Too late.Read More
That night we saw the mountains for the first time in days, making the drive back to Salt Lake more enjoyable.
Then the front tires banged a heap of snow, and our car hydroplaned and donut-drifted across the highway.
"Please don’t let me die in Utah," I thought. I didn’t.
The weathered door squeaked open. A wizened face, almost floating above a moth-eaten coat, peered out at her. “Is this the records office?” she croaked.
“Yes,” came a whisper. “Sit and attach the apparatus to your frontal lobe.”
Although nervous, she obeyed. Erasing one’s medical history is painful but necessary.