While ambling along a momentarily calm stretch of the usually perilous Mulholland Highway “raceway” in rural Agoura, I chanced upon a scene at once grotesque and tender.
The odor struck me first—there was roadkill nearby. It was on the brushy roadside, a rather sizable dead skunk, its mouth frozen in what appeared to be a vicious snarl.
The dead creature and its frightening facial features were the grotesque part.
The tender part was this: Some passerby, perhaps even the driver who struck ...
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