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Picture Proof (standard:drama, 3203 words)
Author: Joe EdwardsonAdded: Feb 24 2002Views/Reads: 2076/1431Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Gary Martin is a regular middle aged man who gets into a car accident with a rich Hollywood superstar and suffers through the aftermath.

I, Gary Martin, went out on a long drive in my trusty 1991 sky blue
Cavalier on my self-given day off, to nowhere in particular, taking in 
the scenery on a beautiful Christmas Eve night.  This is my way of 
relieving the stress built up over the course of a long workweek.  I'm 
a carpenter.  I've been a carpenter for fifteen years, ever since I was 
19 years old. I work seventy hours per week, building people's dream 
vanity desk or their ideal chest of droors, among countless other 
things, for what equates to half minimum wage for most weeks.  Nobody 
is ever satisfied.  They expect whatever fanciful idea they have in 
their head to magically appear before their eyes when they come to pick 
it up, never taking into account the fact that I'm not a genie.  
Sometimes I feel like I could explode.  I knew some day I would, again. 

The lights were especially magnificent this year, even on the homes that
waited until the last couple days to put them up.  I drifted up and 
down the various streets of my small hometown, alone, letting time slip 
relaxingly by.  As you might guess, I'm not married and don't have a 
very close family.  Our family in general isn't very close, so there's 
nothing I can really do about that, and I'm still waiting for the right 
lady to pluck me out of my obscurity.  That'll be the day.  I don't 
even have time for women.  The only things in life I have time for is 
work, work, work to pay the bills, doing my small but noble part to 
line the pockets of greedy corporate big wigs, and my infrequent but 
pleasing drives about town. 

The particular Christmas Eve drive I'm telling you about was one of the
most relaxing ever until my whole world was turned upside down in a 
split second.  Crash!  A red 2001 Dodge Viper skidded around the 
winding curvy road with cars parked haphazardly on both sides, in a 
small residential section of town, slamming into the left rear door of 
the foolish '91 Cavalier that made the mistake of being where it 
shouldn't have been, sending it spinning on the ice countless hundred 
degrees until stopping on the sidewalk.  I was screwed.  I knew it 
then, I know it now, I'll know it forever. 

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" screamed the driver, among various other
explicatives, as he got out of his crumpled piece of art.  I sighed, 
thinking this was just what I needed right now, got out of the car, saw 
the man's face, and dropped my jaw, staring in disbelief.  Standing in 
front of me was none other than Eddie Young, the man considered to be 
the best young actor in Hollywood after winning Best Supporting Actor 
the previous year, in his feature film debut.  He wore a fancy cardigan 
sweater and black slacks, flipped his Tom Cruise wannabe brown hair out 
of his eyes, and stared me down with his chiseled tan face. 

"See that sign?" he condescendingly spat those words at me while
pointing to the yield sign he assumed I had run. 

"Yes, I see it," I said, trying to explain, still in shock over who I
was talking to.  "I checked for cars before going through it, then you 
came flying through and hit me." 

"You'll have to come up with something a little better than that when
the cops come and for the lawyers later.  Better start thinking, bud."  
I couldn't believe his arrogance.  He was clearly at fault.  He looked 
like a nice guy and I had at first expected him to be apologetic and 
hopefully pay for everything, but I should have known better. 

I tried to reason with him. "Whoa.  Lets not make this out to be
something it isn't.  It was a little accident." 

"A little accident you'll be paying off for the next twenty years." 

I continued, trying not to blow up on him that very second.  "Hey, you
do know you were speeding, right?" 

"Was I?" he mockingly asked. 

"I did nothing wrong.  I may have been driving a little slow so I could
look at the Christmas lights, but there's nothing illegal about that," 
I said, hoping he'd come to his senses. 

"If that's your story, good for you.  Sounds almost possible to me.  But
I think you weren't paying attention and pulled out in front of me.  

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