The second car, equally as destroyed and crumpled as the first, had to be pulled out of a large step pyramid of wreckage, the specific makeup of which was impossible to discern. It was just metal and scrap that once held a logical shape covered with gleaming paint, enclosed a comfortable interior, and was an ordered conglomerations of glass, rubber and steel. Now, the fire had consumed everything it could and what was left was the raw frame and under layer that no one ever sees except in pictures and videos of automobile assembly lines. Even in those images there is order. This was chaos.

The small talk was a way to avoid the inevitable. Those around me included Melissa, the coroner investigator; first-responders; and highway workers. Most had already seen a lot, but this was going to be different. The small talk had concluded and Melissa got right to it.