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Coincidence? I Don't Think So

I was out cruising the highway on my Harley, topping out at eighty, which is certainly not as fast as my angel can fly. Unfortunately, my angel had gotten himself one of those whiny crotch rockets and he hit 110 just before he swerved sideways into a Pepperidge Farm truck. He slid down the highway in a lovely rooster-tail of sparks. The rig, however, skittered off the right shoulder of I-15 and flipped down the embankment, casting untold quantities of bread upon the waters of the interestingly named Virgin River, at the bottom of the ravine.

That was the day I met you.

The universe has a thing for irony.