Suburban legends
So last night, driving home from work, as I’m zipping along the freeway doing 70-75 mph (or 60 mph for all you cops out there), I felt my seat shift. Not just a little, weight displacement shift. A shift that felt like someone was pushing against my seat. So me, being the most paranoid person in the world, expected someone to jump up and put a gun to my head or stab me through the seat. I played it cool and talked myself out of craning my head to look in the backseat while speeding along the road next to a guardrail overlooking a 200-foot drop. I refrained from looking until I got home. When I looked into the back seat, I saw a bloody hook.
OK, I lied. It wasn’t bloody. Just rusty.
