It is dusk. A call from my daughter.
I am running. Kind strangers with sad eyes. It's not too bad, they say. She's on the ground, crying. I collapse next to her. I don't feel the rain. I'm in a bad dream.
She had been doing everything right, walking her bike through a crosswalk, waiting for cars to stop. The other driver just didn't see her. An ambulance, a fire truck. Lights spinning, refracting.