Dear Vice,
Meet my friend Sven. He has a hole the size of a small pancake in his head. It looks like one of those funny Jewish hats you see the Pope wear sometimes. Two weeks ago I got a call from Sven. I was still asleep and noticed only hours later I had one missed call from him, at 10.37 AM. I called him back, but he didn’t answer…
(See the hole in all its glory after the jump)

Anyway, I didn’t give it another thought, he’d call back if he had to. That evening the hospital called me. Sven had been in an accident. Nobody knew how it had happened, but what had happened was pretty obvious.

Just before 10.40 AM someone who passed by on his way to work had seen a black Peugeot convertible overturn while going at a considerable speed. It was an older type of convertible, when they still had those vinyl sunroofs. When the car overturned, it continued to slide on its roof. The cops said the roof must have torn immediately and the car must have slid further on the highest thing sticking out of the car: Sven’s head. He skidded on like that for another 20 metres or so. All his flesh had been chafed off on the spot where head and asphalt touched each other, so that the car had come to a standstill on his bare skull.

Check the picture, you can still clearly see his skull. The doctors said he was lucky to have such a hard head. I haven’t told anyone about this yet, even though he tried calling me when he had his accident. I guess that’s why I’m writing this letter to you.

Paul Hildebrand,
Leuven