So I’m driving off to pick up Brad and as I drive round the corner, I spy something on the pavement out the corner of my eye and with a jolt, I realise it’s an old man. He looks like he’s staggered and is trying to stop himself falling to the floor, before sitting, then laying down flat. OMG, I think, he‘s having a heart attack or something. So I stop the car and ask if he’s OK.
“Yes, love,” he replies. “I’m p*ssed!” And stays lying on the ground, perfectly at peace with himself.
“Um, I’d help you up, but I’ve to get my son.”
He waved “Nice of you to stop.” Only a bit more slurred.
He was gone when we came back; I’d told Brad we’d have to help him but someone else got there first. It’s funny but I always swore blind I’d never stop and get out of my car for anyone, if alone, especially at night. Just goes to show, doesn‘t it. I'm not exactly sure what it goes to show but there you are.
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