When I was 5 or 6, my mom and stepdad gave my sister and me 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 said, “Say cheese,” so I looked over at her for a second, and I FUCKING RAMMED 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 life and then SPLAT. Looking back, that was my first existential crisis.