The first indicator that this night was going to suck was when I decided to leave my friend's house, instead of sleeping over. I just felt too terrible to be entertaining, and wasn't interested in watching "Jackass".
The night had gone, I believe, from bad to worse when we realized, my sister, her fiance, and I, that we had missed the last bus of the night. My sister and I had little "big city" experience, so we broke down, pooled our resources, and caught a cab. Too tired to enjoy my first taxi ride, I stared gloomily out the window and tried to ignore the sounds of happiness next to me.
As I gazed insensibly, a man ran into my view. What a perfect metaphor for mankind's current state, I thought, watching this man hurtle down the center line of the road, surrounded by stationary cars and ashphalt. I dubbed him "Apollo", for the Greek God who stole his father's chariot to ride across the sky, dragging the sun with him. I made a little story for him, speculating why he was running (fitness, drunkness, humor, women) but none quite seemed to fit his free sprint yet determined gait.
He made it about twenty feet from my window when POW, he was mowed down by a shiny red grand am, who I cannot believe did not see him. (Later my sister insisted he was chased by a large, angry, man, but this doesn't fit my romanticised notion)
I remember covering my face with my hands, and I remember he was in a blue plaid shirt and blue jeans, but I do not remember the trip home after that point. I think about him sometimes.