Witness

I left Movie Night early yesterday so I could get an early start on throwing out a mountain of trash that's been sitting around far too long. More fool I. As I was on that little street near the Ben Franklin Parkway that connects to 676, the driver in front of me hit a pedestrian who was dressed all in black and jaywalking to boot. To be fair, the driver probably wasn't paying the attention he should, and of course pedestrians do have the right of way. I pulled over, turned on my hazards and went to lend what meager assistance was mine to lend.

The driver (who was kinda cute) was jumping-out-of-his-skin scared, and the pedestrian was insisting upon trying to get up, despite my admonitions to stay still and wait for the rescue squad. I thought about slugging him into unconsciousness but decided that the police would likely frown upon that course of action, well intentioned though it might be. The police and ambulance got there within five minutes (who says city services are bad?), and only then did I notice that one of my hazards wasn't, uh, hazarding. While officialdom took control, I sneaked over to my car and shut off the lights, hoping the officers were too focused on the matter at hand to notice (and write me a ticket for) my non-functioning light. I think the fact that I totally kept my personal interests in mind even during this crisis shows not selfishness but rather a cool head and a rapt attention to detail, don't you?

To make a long story short (too late), the pedestrian was not grievously injured, and I gave the officer my contact information so I can serve as a witness. However, my official story may vary, depending on the following:

The driver is the favored son of a mobster: "Your Honor, this pedestrian was hiding in the lack of bushes, dressed in concealing, non-reflective dark clothing, and he leapt suicidally in front of the car driven by this fine, upstanding young man. The fine, upstanding young man was so distraught by this turn of events that he wept and cried out, 'Why couldn't it have been me?'"

The pedestrian is a millionaire: "Your Honor, the driver was moving at six times the legal speed limit, and was driving with one hand on a bottle of Jack Daniel's and the other on the left breast of the skankiest Broad-Street hooker you can imagine. She fled after the accident, taking the booze with her and stepping with her six-inch spike heels right on the victim, who remarked only, 'I hope I didn't delay this young man's trip, or stain that young lady's shoe.'"

Chances are it's neither one of these, so I will wind up telling the truth.