Renting a car suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. Roger was driving on the highway, other cars whizzing past him, as he crept along the snow-covered asphalt toward town. Every time he tried to accelerate, his car would slide, and he would nearly careen into another car passing him, so he was driving at thirty kilometres per hour and no faster. The flakes were swirling everywhere, obscuring the windshield, making driving a pain. “How do they do this here?” he muttered to himself.
Glancing to his right, he saw two other vehicles in the ditch, undamaged but out of commission until the storm ended. He looked forward again and kept his eyes glued to the two tire tracks showing the safe road through the snow. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he was trying to keep himself from panicking. He turned right with the road, and found himself on black ice; his car kept moving straight, and with terrible slowness, he slid into the car in the next lane. They both went off the side of the road. “Fuck,” Roger said, finally stopped.
He took a breath, gathered the insurance papers, and pushed open the car door.