One time when I was a teenager I wanted to try the stunt of jumping out of a moving car.

Probably 1984. We were in my friend’s ’66 Mustang. He slowed way, way down — like 5 miles an hour. We figured we should be careful!

We were in our development. At night. No other cars on the street or likely to be.

I was in the back seat. I opened the door and jumped — but super-carefully, just kinda horizontally — out into the grass besides the car.

I still remember the feeling of my leg grazing the back wheel, and I remember my heart pounding as I realize how close I came to having my leg run over.

No, we hadn’t been drinking. This is the kind of dumb stuff we did when we couldn’t find any beer.