The blue rusted pickup truck, clung precariously to the winding yellow ribbon of asphalt. It lay along the rounded eminence beside the glisning pearl river. Even the sadistic storms from the twister season, had not prepared Tom Wilconsin for what would happen that summer. He could see his baleful faced reflection in the rear-view mirror, with every glance of his peircing blue eyes. The road from Brookhaven to Jackson was best intermediate with exorbitant caution in full daylight. So with it becoming night, the darkness caused extra caution with the travelers. Tom's sundered headlights stabbed the darkness, seeking out the edge of the payment. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness from them, then noticed two deer on the left hand side of the road grazing.