God, I was going to have to get out and walk. Were there bears in Montana? Oh my God, there were bears in Montana. I’d just had the worst twenty-four hours ever, my life was an on-going shitshow, I ran my car off the road in a freaking blizzard, and now I was going to end up a frozen human popsicle or mauled to death by a bear two days before Christmas. Then something big and dark and remarkably bear-shaped tapped on my driver’s window and scared the ever-loving shite out of me so bad, I let out a high-pitched scream of terror, and I swear to God, I almost peed a little.
