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asphalt below. When it finally came to a stop, the truck was barely recognizable, the mangled monster now on its side in a ghastly twist of metal, bent by the violence wrought by casual standing trees.  
    There was no sound in the traffic center. I could barely breathe.
    The scanner chirped, “Holy shit! Did you see that?!?” There was a lot of noise on the frequency. It chirped again, “We’ve got a major accident near the site of the previously reported disabled vehicle. We need everyone out there now. Inner Loop of the Beltway, accident with a tractor trailer in the trees,” whoever it was on the scanner continued to give reports of the still smoking scene.
    I wondered if Bob would take issue with this.  

6
    I have a theory that watching the progression and aftermath of the crash on the monitors somehow made the whole thing more dramatic. Maybe if I had heard the sounds of the wheels screaming, the metal twisting, and the glass shattering, it would have been more real and less like a nightmare my mind refused to abandon. I simply sat in a chair and stared at the disaster, the screens now flooded with flashing lights.  
    Maryland State Highway had called and I gave my best recollection of the events. I don’t remember what was said but I remember drifting off a lot. The guy from state highway whose name I don’t recall kept asking me if I was still there, beyond frustrated when he hung up. I didn’t want them to know too much. I didn’t want anyone to know that I could in some way be responsible for the mess on the Inner Loop.  
    A flock of fire trucks arrived and parked. Both sides of the Beltway were blocked, hindering my way home. It was a convenient excuse. I could have taken the Beltway through Maryland, but I couldn't quite feel my legs at the moment.
    The morning crew descended and delivered reports efficiently, awake and snapping their fingers in excitement. They walked in to an electrifying news story. This sure beat the doldrums of a normal Thursday morning traffic delay bore fest. They smiled until the anchors and hosts came to them, and then erected facades featuring grave tones to hide their enthusiasm. “We are receiving reports of a very serious accident on the Inner Loop of the Beltway. Maryland state highway is on the scene.”
    I would have been excited too. A major tractor trailer accident doesn’t happen every day. Of course, my interest was dampened by the very real possibility that I was responsible for killing a man.  
    Eric, the morning producer, rubbed his hand on the back of his head and listened intently. He hung up the phone and twirled around in his chair, addressing the room. “The driver of the truck is DRT, and is still pinned inside. They plan on opening the Outer Loop soon. They will be allowing one lane through on the Inner Loop but that could take a while. The cab is twisted around in the trees and it’s going to take a long time to get out of there.”  
    The anchors turned back around in their seats, scribbling notes. A few of the TV monitors showed the raw feed coming through, which is the live video from a reporter on the scene of breaking news. I stared at the screen that showed a beautiful woman with shocking red hair standing silently on camera. She was looking down, probably at a Blackberry, while they adjusted lights and other settings. She looked bored and annoyed with the wait.
    The camera man zoomed in on the truck. The cab encircled a tree, the metal bent impossibly, as if the tree had been white hot and sliced through the steel with ease. It looked like a wet ball of firm flour had been shoved through a fork. A deep red pool was visible on the ground under the driver’s side door, getting deeper as the contents of the cab dripped down. It glistened greasy from the distant lights.  
    Eric pushed down on a communicator in front of him, “Chopper 3-2?”
    A voice crackled from a speaker overhead. “Go ahead base.”  
    “Tell Fox 5 not to do a tight