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I-70 Westbound, East of Concordia

This one is fresh. A million pieces of windshield glittering in the sun. A woman holds her arms above her head, she weeps. She knows they’re lucky to be alive. Knows they’re even luckier to be unhurt. A man rubs his face, looks at the mess he’s made. Wonders how they’ll get home, how he’ll get to work in the morning. A state trooper picks up a pair of fishing poles from the middle of the hammer lane, kicks pieces of debris towards the shoulder. I’m happy to be getting through this now. The traffic on this road flows like a swift river in spring. And the Highway Patrol just put up a dam.