sunnudagur, júní 07, 2009


Going north, there was nothing but rain. Massive eight-wheelers threw spray off the pavement onto the windshield, and before I slowed, I could feel the tires begin to hydroplane.

Coming south again, a fleet horse drew a black buggy from one side of the highway to the other on the overpass -- a dark bay sure-footed on the concrete and mane flying.

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