Rock and three of his friends agreed to meet to jog along heavily wooded trails near downtown Little Rock. Two of them stood with Rock as they watched the final member of their group approach the parking lot in a 1968 navy blue Ford Fairlane, driving close to eighty miles an hour, entirely too fast for the winding descent into the lot. He lost control near the entrance and his car flew over a deep creek bed, slammed headfirst into a tree and flipped over.
Rock and the others watched as the driver stepped unscathed from the car. He looked exactly like a forty-year-old version of the late actor James Garner, and acted as though nothing unusual had just happened. No one seemed surprised. Rock had seen the man walk away undamaged from such catastrophes many times before.
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