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July 21, 2002
The ‘86 White Honda Accord was aimed north on I-75. The sun had just made its first appearance through a deep misty fog. The air hung heavy and wet. Being a Sunday, there was hardly any traffic, just a few 18-wheelers heading to Tampa with their loads of, of what? toys? meat? parts for Hondas? What did it matter?

Behind the wheel for four and a half hours already, Robin fought to keep her eyes from becoming fixed in road stare. That could be fatal. Especially if it lulled her to where she wanted to be: sleep.

-to be continued…