As I was waiting, Mr Cuntfucking Biggest Asshole of all time (from Lewisham, urgh) came and asked me for change. Weighing this guy's appearance up, I decided to walk off, but he kept fucking following and pestering me. At this point I should say that my justification for this decision and some pretty stupid ones that followed it were probably due to the White Shitening, which I have only ever drunk since on one occasion, after which I was woken up by my fringe and forehead getting soaked as my calmly sleeping face splashed into the toilet bowl. I own class, me. So anyway, I kept getting followed, and we ended up on some estate where he was going to roll a joint or something for us. I said I didn't want any, and this must have pissed him off because the next thing I knew he had one of his hands going through my pockets and the other repeatedly punching me in the head.
As you can imagine, I didn't enjoy this. The thought did cross my mind that I could have been about to lose my anal virginity, but don't worry, that came later by the hands of some Asian dude called Kerpal or something like that. I decided the best thing to do would be to leg it, and seeing a group of people outside the estate and on the other side of the road I reckoned I'd be safe if I ran to them, he wasn't going to mess with five or six people. In an inspired move, I got free and sprinted into the road, only looking for traffic after I was in the middle. I looked right, and missed a Transit van by literally about half a metre, and then coming over the crest of the hill from the left (it hadn't been there when I'd jumped into the road) was a huge passenger coach coming at about 30 mph. I suppose if I was going to do this, I may as well have done it properly, and I'm glad I got hit by one of the biggest fuckers on the road, not some pussy hatchback or saloon. It was literally like being hit by a moving brick wall, the face of the thing was totally flat. I reckon I must have been hit in the leg, flown a few metres and landed on my face. The worst bit is that I wasn't concussed, so I remember it all, the headlights, the hit, the taste of the road, everything. The thought of my teeth grinding along the tarmac still makes me shiver, and I hate that kerb bit in American History X now.
I got up straight away and walked about a bit before it really sunk in, I was so in shock. Then the blood, Jesus it was everywhere, I wasn't doing things by halves. Some poor woman came up to me and asked if I wanted anyone phoned. I said to phone my friend (I wasn't too intelligible with teeth and bone hanging out everywhere) and tell him I probably wasn't going to make it to his that night, but forgot about phoning my parents, I wasn't really thinking too straight then. The ambulance ride was horrible, but morphine's actually pretty good, why do you think Snoop Dogg smokes medicinal weed? The NHS has got that shit on lock. My Mum got to the hospital, but declined to take a picture when I asked her, I was pretty bummed out by that. Then the nurses insisted on cutting my brand new shirt off (I had not a single chest injury, my face took the fall). I managed to persuade them to leave it, and so I just lay there staring at the ceiling in despair as my stressed out mother thanked God that I was alive. The girl in the bed to the left of me couldn't speak English and was in for a drug overdose/attempted suicide whilst the guy on the right had multiple stab wounds. I love living sometimes.
That's about it really, I was pretty immobile for the next couple of days. The only further embarrassments/total losses of dignity include drinking a pint through a straw, having some guy shove medicine up my ass, spurting a pretty good jet of claret everywhere when I had my drip removed, not recognising myself in the mirror, having my mum bathe me at 17 and staring at some old guy's stinking, overflowing catheter bag for two days. I don't think I've been lower to be honest, but I got some nice cards and rumour spread that I was in a coma which is always pretty fun.
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