I was heading home late, drunk, from a party at my friend Steven’s place. It was a pretty fun little soiree I suppose, but, given the fact that I was driving home – by myself – at 2am, it couldn’t have been that good, right?

But my spirits weren’t down. This certainly wasn’t the first party I’d left from alone. In fact, I’d strung together quite a few weekends now of going out, and not finding anyone ‘compatible’. Fair enough though. I could always swerve my way back to my apartment, put on some music, toss off my clothes, shove a raunchy porno in the DVD player, and stretch out on the couch and take care of my own needs.

So, as I had resigned myself to nothing more than solo action for the evening, I twisted the radio volume knob and cranked up my car’s stereo to blast the 80s mix CD I was playing.

I bobbed and danced behind the wheel as I sang along with Berlin’s Metro. I was a little drunk, but I had driven in much worse condition. Actually, I think I was just drunk enough to be loose, and not be nervous about driving at all.

That’s when I felt my right tires drop off the shoulder of the road and grind through the dirt and gravel at the edge of the pavement. This shocked me to reality and I jerked the car back on the road, halting my enthusiastic singing.

I checked the rearview to see if anyone was behind me. Any time I left a party at Steven’s I always avoided the highway and took the back country roads home to avoid running past any cops. This also meant there was seldom anyone else on the road with me at this time of night, so I was pretty sure I was okay.

Still staring in the rearview mirror, I saw no headlights within view behind me, so I sighed a deep breath of relief and sank back into my seat. Just as I brought my eyes back down from the rearview, I crested the top of a hill and saw the tell-tale sign of red break lights in front of me.

In my slowed, inebriated, reaction time, I fumbled my foot onto the break pedal and pressed it down hard. My anti-lock breaks kept me from skidding, but I just simply didn’t have enough to room to stop. My car decelerated harshly, bucking me forward. I grinded my teeth and clenched my eyes shut. And I felt it. A jarring little bump.

I opened my eyes to see the trunk of an old Buick resting against the hood of my Camry. “Shit,” I muttered as my racing mind tried to figure out what to do next. There was no way I’d pass a breathalyzer. If cops came, I was fucked.

I considered for a moment backing my car off and trying to make a run for it. But I wasn’t quite drunk enough to really believe I could get away with that. My only hope was that the driver would let me pay for the damages and not file a report.

I unfastened my seatbelt and hesitated another minute, still trying to process what I was going to say. I didn’t hit hard. The damage couldn’t be that bad. I had to hang onto hope.

Just as I eased my door open, I saw the driver of the other car