It’s so easy to kill someone, all a person like me needs is a car and a few seconds. Because people like you trust me, you drive thousands of kilos of metal at hundreds of kilometers an hour, hurtling through the darkness with the people you love most sleeping in the backseat, and when someone like me approaches from the opposite direction, you trust that I don’t have bad brakes. That I’m not looking for my phone between the seats, not driving too fast, not drifting between lanes because I’m blinking the tears from my eyes. That I’m not sitting on the slip road to the 111 with my headlights
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