Bar Song 5

It's a fast world :
"Where you from?"
We speed along.
Make you run so fast you can't focus on-
And the worst is, no one changed my mind.
The best is I still get all your time
So if we're in love, I suppose,
I'm out of here before I get too close

I think we should, we should, we should be together. I try to love you like you've never pushed me around.
I think we should, we should, we should be together.
With you, I could slow dance anywhere I go.

I used to write childrens stories.
I once wrote one about land where you had to purchase your names, letter by letter. And a girl who couldn't afford a name.

On that note, bar song four is here!

Bar Song Five
Decked in his navy pinstripe suit, which he always fancied himself quite dashing in, George drove to pick up Don for car pool to work.
Don, similarly decked, provided as much stimulating converstation as Beth had.
This was fortunate. A good thing about Don has always been his ablility to hold an entire conversation by himself.
Had Don not been so absorbed in his own highly amusing and slightly obscene tale regarding his wife and a hair dryer, he may have actually asked George a question, to which George would have had to answer.
So, as it was, Don prattled on and George drove on, thinking about her, and how he should not be thinking about her.
So absorbed was he, by thoughts of not thinking, that he failed to stop at the stopsign at Maple and Third.
Needless to sat, and with fate being what it is, the one sign he ignores is the one he shouldn't have. Isn't that the way it always is?

The resulting crash would not have been so catastrophic had he hitten, oh say, another car, instead of, once again fate being what it is, of the child on a bike.

The ear tearing scrap of metal on much smaller metal wasn't so bad. George could've handled that.
It was the sickening, solid thump of a body hitting the ground that was the worst.
Don stopped talking. George sat behind the wheel, his eyes hut tight, and fingers gripping the wheel for dear life.

Seconds pass.

George unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. The dinging telling him his door was obviously open (a feature George always noted to be fairly useless) matched his thoughts.

"Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn..."

He looked at the bike first. Blue and yellow and....
small.
Deep breath.
The body.