Queer bent bastard

Kent asked if I would like something to drink. After a couple of seconds, I was able to get my mind working again long enough to say, “Yes please, a Coke if you have it.” A few seconds later, I had my drink in my hand and was sitting in a lounge chair next to Kent and sipping on a nice cold Coke.

“So, it’s not everyday we get to meet one of Kent’s driving victims,” Jamie said with a laugh.

“Yeah, usually they don’t survive,” Sandy added, laughing.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that Chad here is my first victim…and last,” Kent responded indignantly.

I looked at Jamie and gave him a grin. “Actually, I think it’s more like Kent’s one of my walking victims than I’m one of his driving victims. After all, I did step off the curb right in front of him,” I said in Kent’s defence.

“Okay, we’ll let it go this time,” Jamie responded with a chuckle.

We talked about the accident for a few minutes. All were in agreement with Kent: they couldn’t think of anything more upsetting than hitting someone with your car, even if it wasn’t your fault. The feeling of helplessness when he knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop was something Kent said he would never forget. Again, I apologized to him, and again he explained how it had taught him something valuable, thankfully without serious consequences. The conversation soon moved on to other things and we all became involved in some less serious, fun, back and forth banter.