His hand is shaking as he is writing. By this time, the squatter's face turns red in anger. I recognize from the way his shoulder is moving up and down that he is breathing too fast. He may be hyperventilating from stress. His intense eyes meet mine. He looks troubled every passing moment. Something is wrong. I instantly grab a handy paper bag from the glove compartment, step out of my car and approach the squatter.
Me: Hey, Are you okay? I saw the whole thing.
Squatter: I... I don't... feel... too... good.
Me: You seem in distress. Please breathe out of this bag and...
The squatter faints. I call 911! Next thing I know, paramedics gets him into the ambulance truck. As I walk back heavily towards my car, I see the piece of paper on the concrete road. I pick it up, glance at it and put it on my side pocket. I drive past the Hummer and suddenly there seem to be parking space all around.
The next day, I hand the package of material to my professor. He engages me in a conversation and oddly mentions a freak accident that happened earlier he said in the parking lot campus right where the copy center is. He said the driver of a truck is badly hurt and the police couldn't identify him just yet but they have his license plate number. The number is released to the media. I probe further. I reach for my side pocket, the same jacket I wore yesterday. I read the license number from the paper; it matches that of the Hummer guy's license plate number.