A funny thing happened on the way to Saints & Sinners

Despite being a fucking bastard, I come from a long line of Good Samaritans. I’ve never been quite the altruist I always dreamed of, though. Or more correctly, I was never the altruist that Renee was in high school and beyond, which might have been the one redeeming quality that would have pushed her past the “We’re just friends” stage. Like the time when she took me over to this mentally challenged kid’s house. She had become friends with the guy over the years, and would stop by from time to time to spend time with him and send him news from the world outside his door. It was fun, and a little bit infectious, but at the same time I knew then that I was way out of my league.

But I do my part, I think. Or at least try somewhere near my best to.

So, when I was driving on the way to S&S; and saw a guy lying in the street with people huddled around, I stopped to see what I could do. Perhaps my Boy Scout days would come in handy. Short story it wasn’t that serious. A guy skateboarding down the street had got tagged by an old man in a car as he was pulling into traffic. The guy was in a lot of pain, but he could move his extremities and he was fairy aware of his surroundings.

For whatever reason, I quickly lapsed into Guy-Speak, which only has a passing resemblance to how I really talk. I said things like, “Where’s it hurt, bro?” and “Dude, just stay still for a bit, yo.” He responded in kind, though… the “dudes” and the “bros” being the common language amongst the many guy-dialects.

As it turned out, there wasn’t much I could do. I just kept an eye on his leg to see it was swelling and had him keep his foot up until the ambulance arrived. I did want to sock the guy that him in the face, though, when he said, “It doesn’t even look swollen.” Shut your mouth, jackass, no one asked you for money, yet.