…you drop everything and write it down right that very second.

Liz Kowalski’s twenty-year-old shitbox, loaded down with everything she owned, went by the Welcome To Whitford, Maine sign trunk first, bald tires throwing snow as it headed for the ditch.

Knuckles white on the steering wheel, she swore as the ass-end clipped a tree and the trunk popped open. Closing that sucker had been like shoving a 12-inch Jack into a 2-inch box and she could almost hear the sproing of her belongings popping out.  Welcome home, she thought in the seconds before the Buick’s nose smacked left-fender-first into the trunk of an old pine, stopping its slide with a bone-jarring jerk.