We were both sweaty, dirty and more than a little grumpy. My wife was particularly fussy - pulling out all our dusty old stuff tends to stress her out...She was wearing Birkenstocks, ragged cut-off jean shorts pushed low on her hips, and a threadbare tank top with no bra. She was up on a six foot step ladder struggling with a faded cardboard box high on a shelf. The tape holding the box together had turned yellow and brittle with age, so that when she hauled it down the bottom fell out, dumping. I smelled smoke. ‘Why am I smelling smoke?’ I asked myself. ‘OH MY GAAWDDDDDDD!’ I screamed. Ooh my throat hurts.” The scream died, it was too painful to scream. My eyes popped open, I thrashed around. ‘I must get out of the car, run for my life. Where is the door handle?’ I was trapped, I cannot move. ‘Let me out!” I prayed. “Help! Why can’t I move? Where am I? Where is the car? Where are all the animals? Where is the fire? God help me, please.’ I pulled and pulled but still I seemed to be. More

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