Accident

It's that guy

You realize when you step out of your car to get a better look at the damage. You didn't curse when you rear-ended him, but now you wish you could, because he's getting out of his Volvo and you realize

It's that guy

That guy you went on an OkCupid date with six months ago. You thought he was cute enough, and his profile said he liked stargazing, so you went out to the desert at night to do precisely that. You drove out to the desert in that very Volvo, the one whose bumper you've just lightly crushed. You drove out there with a blanket and a bottle of red wine and you thought this is exactly the kind of thing my mother warned me not to do and you thought it is a decent place to dump a body and you thought at least I'll die in a beautiful place, beneath the stars.

You didn't die, though.

In fact, you thought the date went pretty well. You made out for a while, and even though he was slightly too enthusiastic with his tongue, you weren't about to complain. But he never called you again, and you got angry with yourself for going out with a guy who lists "stargazing" as one of his interests, because how cliché is that? 

That guy doesn't remember you. He's pissed, but he keeps his voice down. For a moment you wonder if you should remind him. You decide against it. You exchange insurance information. He drives away.

You examine the front of your Oldsmobile. Barely a scratch. That thing's going to last forever.