“Unconsciousness is a teleporter. When the low-rider struck me on that winding road outside of Honaw and sent me flipping up into the air like a coin, heads over tails over heads over tails, I landed on a cotton-white mattress under starched-white sheets, my aunt asleep in a nearby chair.”

“Unconsciousness is a teleporter. When the low-rider struck me on that winding road outside of Honaw and sent me flipping up into the air like a coin, heads over tails over heads over tails, I landed on a cotton-white mattress under starched-white sheets, my aunt asleep in a nearby chair.”

— Daniel Barnett