When I was about 5 or 6, my mom and stepdad bought my sister and I bikes for Easter. After church, they said, “Do you want to learn how to ride them?” And I was like, “Of course!”. Once I got the hang of it, I was riding around in circles, showing off. My mom was like “say cheese” so I look over at her for a second and I FUCKING RAM INTO A CAR AT FULL SPEED. It was a parked car that I didn’t even see, so I just rammed into it, fell off my bike, and started crying, thinking, “this must be how bugs feel”. Like they’re flying around, living their lives, and then SPLAT. In retrospect, that was my first existential crisis.