The Finish Line

Imagine that you are 87 years old, a grandfather, war veteran. Healthy, happy, living a life with purpose. You are a regular blood donor, so regular, in fact, that you are celebrated for your generous and kind spirit. The organization that has been collecting your donations, for years, decides to give you a present. For your efforts, it will treat you to a ride in a sportscar around a race track. You will not be traveling at a grandfatherly pace. No, you will be going fast. Really fast.

Odd, I think, for an organization that stores blood to be used in such things as auto accidents, many of which occur when drivers are speeding, to praise the life of a blood donor with a whirl in a speeding car. This is insanity, really. And nowhere in the conception, planning and execution of the insanity did anybody realize it. People do not think enough, except about silly things. 

Of course, as stories go, this one went the way you’d write it. Full of irony and pathos. The strangeness of truth. The car crashed on the track and the man was killed. 

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