I was driving my son to a birthday party around noon on Saturday. We weren’t on a backroad but we were on one of those old country roads filled with lots of hills, wide turns, and beautiful views. There are many like that here in West Virginia.
As we were popping over one of those hills, I could see some commotion in the distance. The left lane looked like it was slow moving and I saw flashing lights, although my side, the right side, was moving right along. I anticipated an accident to be the culprit but as I crested yet another hill it became clear. It was a funeral procession. The flashing lights were coming from the hearse that led what seemed like thirty cars, who also had their lights on to further signal that they were a part of the procession.
And my side. The right side. Well, the ten or fifteen cars in front of me just kept on driving. Not even slowing down. But I knew what I was going to do. I was going to stop for the dead. I just wished I wasn’t going to be the only one.
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