Even though I grew up in New England, there was something novel about seeing an Icelandic blizzard. It was paralysing, with epic wind gusts that made snowflakes feel like razors. As I dragged my bags along Reykjavik's snowy pavement, an older man in a Jeep pulled alongside me. "You want to get in?" he asked. It sounded crazy. Why would I ever get in a stranger's car? Despite everything I was taught about riding in cars with strangers, I climbed in the backseat. And... (GunPolicy.org)