The dirge went on. The trumpet sighs carrying over the rain-soaked, bowed heads. Perhaps if they weren’t all so foolhardy none of this would have happened. They could have lived their whole lives never dressed in black, never having ridden in limos with purple flags attached to the hood. The same way they were congruent to going with the flow in the past, today they slosh through the mud in heels, cry out loud, say clichéd phrases reserved for times like these, and talk about how he’ll never be forgotten. Their plight, like the velociraptor and T-rex, was instantaneous. One minute you’re cruising, sixty maybe seventy miles per hour, singing at the top of your lungs, and the next…the car doesn’t make it around the bend. Driving on pavement or grass all feels the same at that speed.