Today, I drove down Kellogg like I do every day. The sun was tauntingly shining just below my sun visor, directly into my eyes, like it does every day this time of year. The traffic wasn’t too bad (no accidents for the rubberneckers).

I scoot to the far right lane because to prepare to exit in about a mile. Almost to a fault, I typically give myself an ample amount of time to get to the exit lane.

Somewhere between my over-prepared lane change and my actual exit, a red Subaru Impreza hatchback – positioned just to the front of my driver’s side bumper – teeters over the white dotted line.

Whoa.

I swerve slightly. “Yep, on his phone.”

I start to slow down, but not soon enough, he swerves into my front bumper with just enough force to send me into the rail on the bridge.

I’m still going about 50 miles per hour along the rail. The screeching of metal on concrete is nightmare-ish.

I lose control of my car. I brace myself as my car topples over the rail and barrel-rolls in the air a couple times before smashing on the asphalt below.

My air bags inflate. The side of my face is severely burnt by the air bags, but nothing a little plastic surgery can’t handle.

Then I exit Downtown and continue heading to work thinking, “That totally could’ve happened.”