As a young snot out of college, the first day of my first job found me at a home in the quiet Philadelphia suburbs. Quiet until a four-seater Apache aircraft spun out of control and took a random nose dive into a clump of Azalea bushes on the front lawn.
All four passengers were incinerated. When I arrived on the scene, cops were jabbing ID stakes into what looked like various grades of beef chuck. My job was to phone the dead men’s tale to the city desk. I was a newspaper reporter...
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