Aaron is a twenty year old who came to Los Angeles for love, and ended up being bled dry by the one woman he chased after. With debtors on his back and no change in his pocket, he ends up desperate to make ends meet. He doesn't see the light at the...
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I was sitting at a stoplight in my well-loved Jeep, which was basically scrapped metal with wheels by now. Sometimes, destiny happens in the most routine places. Sometimes it happens when you are at an intersection, counting the seconds down until the light goes green. My cell phone was buzzing, the number seven appearing on my screen.
I had given all of my debtors a number, so when they called, I knew how much I owed the person calling me. I supposedly owed seven grand to debtor number seven, so I let it go to voicemail. I was going off to the blood bank before work, ready to siphon off my to life force to try and buy some dinner. I glanced at the sunny boulevard in Los Angeles and grinned; at least the sunshine was free.
Out of nowhere, just before the. Light flickered from red to green, a vehicle slammed into my bumper, awakening me from my daydream. I heard the sound of metal crashing, and I lurched forward. It was just a small hit, but I felt it. I looked out to see a nice car, a Benz with two teenagers in it. I jumped out and waved, signaling I was fine. The kid was young, good looking, and seemed annoyed I hadn't driven off. It was as if I was inconveniencing him by allowing him to hit me. The girl in the passenger seat glanced at me, her brown eyes looking terrified and striking. They both got out of the car.
"Hey asshole," the kid shouted. "The light was green."
"I'm not color blind," I said. "It was red. Either way, you hit a parked car. Come on, let's just exchange contact information."
"Jason," the girl snapped. "Write down your phone number or I will. This guy's car is about to decompose and you just totaled it."
I felt a tiny bit of shame looking at my heap of metal, but it didn't really matter. Pretty as she was, I didn't want to waste my energy worrying about the opinions of some girl whose boyfriend couldn't drive.
I pulled out my phone and took a picture, grateful I still had phone that worked. I clicked the cars, the guys license plate, and then his a noxious face.
"Hey, put that down," the guy who was possibly named Jason yelled.
"If you don't want to exchange info, I will call the cops. I've got your license plate."
"Jason, just write him a check," the girl said. "You can bankroll it and you were wrong. You hit his car."
"Fine," the guy said, opening his wallet. "I'll write him a check."
"Watch out where you're going, you know." I said. "You could have killed someone, like your pretty little girlfriend."
Her eyes shot up at me, glaring. I guess she couldn't take a compliment.
"I want to buy your phone," the guy said. "I need to get those pictures off."
"Sorry, I need my phone," I said.
The kid handed me a check, smirking at he did so. I glanced down at the dollar line; he'd written out $100.
"You're kidding me," I replied. "Give me your insurance card. We will let them handle this."
