Men die in cars and make the nightly news.
When a hunk of unchewed beef blocked his airway, the Chevy he was driving shuddered over curb and gutter and rear-ended an oak tree.
His granddaughter thought it was a game – his silence, his slump over the Toyota’s steering column. She kicked the back of his seat again and again even when the police officer asked her to stop.
His mother died of dementia. He would not. He drove his Volvo to a parking lot near work and swallowed a capsule of cyanide.
And they say men scorn drama.