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There's not a scratch on him, hardly a bruise in fact. The car must have thrown off most of its momentum in the spin. The roll into the ditch was almost gentle.
He sits there just glad to breathe and offering thanks, as one Irishman to another, to the patron of calamities.
He feels the sun on the back of his neck and realizes he has come up tails, pointing back the way he came. This observation contains a moral:
We always see the future in a rear-view mirror.
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