Witness To The End Of Vacation “This traffic is so bad you could die in it,” I said from my Civic. And then, prophetically, someone did. I blamed the governments - assigning a single customs officer to man all eight border control booths on July 4th – The line to leave Canada constipated for miles. A well-intentioned tourist balled a Niagara Falls souvenir sweatshirt under the man’s neck as they untangled the man from his seatbelt and unfolded his unconscious body onto the center lane. Other drivers who weren’t driving anyway stepped out of their cars to flag the wailing ambulance like a parade float, but the man’s heart gave up on waiting. There is no protocol for what to do when a man dies of heart attack in the center lane of border patrol traffic, though we in a five car radius turned off our radios and engines; It seemed the dead should not be subjected to Justin Bieber nor bathe in our exhaust. Miles behind us, cars were honking, hungry to get to America.
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