Fuck.
That was the word of choice.
Fuck I’m leaving. Fuck you’re leaving. Fuck lets get drunk. Fuck yeah! Fuck I got kicked out. Fuck the club. Fuck the bouncers. Fuck lets eat. Fuck this rain. Fuck McDonalds. Fuck the rain. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck.
The word didn’t carry any weight until “oh fuck” came along. Then it got heavy.
Our evening was like a high school counselors scare tactic speech verbatim; the crest of summer, a culmination of three months rolled into a single night. Young hotclique upstarts painting the town, like a wake for adventures past and a celebration of new pursuits in the forthcoming academic year. We have the future at our toes. This is only headed in one direction: tragedy.
Tucked in the industrial terrain off main and terminal lay an oasis of grease. Clouds, with all their silver lined evilness, were unrelenting. My McChicken sauce was watered down but I didn’t care. Our clothes seemed watered down as well and we cared about that. Time to find shelter.
I am finding it difficult to explain what happened with any semblance of elegance. Basically it felt like I had just been speared by Goldberg. Then some guy is stuffing a cigarette in my mouth and nattering on. “You just got hit by a fucking car dude!”
According to him I flew back about seven to ten feet, hit the ground on my side and rolled. Then I jumped up and stumbled/crawled/ran to the sidewalk. Ambulances are here now. Neck brace on. IVs in. The lights are really bright.
I don’t even want to talk about this anymore. I went to the hospital and limped out unassisted. It was all very uncomfortable and very scary. I consider myself fucking lucky.
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