Fancy Meeting You Here

Hi, my name is Jeremy.

ME: This night can't possibly get any worse.

Never say "This night can't possibly get any worse."

I was walking back to my car from the club when I noticed something lying in the road in front of the Performing Arts Center.

Initially I thought it must be either a drunken clubwhore who couldn't make it back to their car or a homeless person (one will inevitably become the other in a span of five years), but when I approached I saw that it was--

ME: Ben?

He was pretty beaten up. I know it's cliche to say that it looked like a truck hit him, but--

ME: F**k me.

A truck was coming.

I bent down to shake him, but he was out cold. I kept yelling his name since the truck didn't seem to be slowing down.

ME: BEN! GET UP! GET UP!

Finally, I grabbed him and dragged him over to the side of the road as the truck came to a screeching halt.

The driver leaned out of his window and yelled at me.

SCARY TRUCK DRIVER: Hey, what's wrong with that guy?
ME: I don't know. I think he's hurt.
SCARY TRUCK DRIVER: You should call 9-1-1.
ME: You think?
SCARY TRUCK DRIVER: Do you know him?

I looked down at Ben.

ME: Yeah, he's my worst enemy.

Before I could get my cell phone out, I heard the ambulance in the distance.

I guess somebody got to Ben before I did.