Its more like crashing than any other feeling I've known; to be somewhere you've been before and knowing all too well the familiar sound of screeching tires headed for this cinder block these unstoppable things will come my way again. I know that helplessness tastes of bile and blood close but not yet on its way up. In my car I listen to jazz as much as the blues and most days I don't mind that I can't always tell the difference. Just so long as the music keeps my mind from replaying the sounds of glass and steel and cinders crashing down.