Last night, after hanging out with friends watching Monday Night Football, laughing about life, toasting to our accomplishments, envisioning a future full of hope, prosperity and happiness, I jumped at the opportunity to get a ride back to Brooklyn from my boy, Chris. I mean, it was midnight and the E train is the pits.
We say peace to our friends.
Get in the car.
Ten minutes driving.
Stop at a light.
Sounds. Screeching. Crunching. Cracking. Popping.
I turn to see what the commotion is.
Truck headed right for us.
(insert expletive…preferably F#CK!)
Four car pile up.
It was caused by a drunk driver, who hit the first car, which hit the truck behind us, which hit us. The first two cars were totaled. The drunk driver was fine (of course.) The man he hit, an elder, not so much. I went around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door to see if I could help him. Blood poured from his nose and his mouth, and the side of his headed was gashed.
“Can you breathe?” I asked.
“Sir, can you breathe?” I repeated.
He struggled to get out a yes, and explained that he couldn’t move.
And all I could think about was that ten minutes ago, we were laughing at life, toasting to our accomplishments, and envisioning a future…in a most fragile present.