I’d heard the rumor going around the city. There was a man asleep at the wheel who never stopped driving. His gas wouldn’t run out. Apparently, he’d been going for months. A miracle of sorts. The cops couldn’t cite him for anything because he didn’t violate any traffic laws. Yesterday, I spotted him. When I saw his bumper sticker, I cursed him out. “The miraculous is rarely useful,” it read. I imagined my cancer rippling through my body, laughing at the phrase’s unfortunate accuracy.
