If there ever was a cliché of a Midwestern town, St. Andre was it. Flat, windy, scattered trees, and moderately small. With a population of around 200,000 spread out over a sprawling city and 4 suburbs, only the downtown district reminded people that they lived in the largest city in the entire state. It was a quaint, scenic place. Large enough to have some of the conveniences of a large town, but without the crime and pollution. In fact, St Andre was the safest city in the entire region. Of course, that made it very boring for a teen ager.
David was a antsy sophomore in at the biggest of the local high schools, Andre Central. He was a gifted student, but was bored easily in school. He wasn't incredibly athletic, and his 5' 11.5” frame was thin. Between the baggy cargo khakis and loose black windbreaker, his look was accentuated into an entire style. Between his boredom and his natural desire of adventure, the small city was a sad disappointment for him. He wished for something to happen, for him to do something.
He should have been more careful what he wished for . . .
It was a normal, boring day in St. Andre that the interesting part of David's story began.
As the beginnings go, in wasn't even a good one. David was running 30 minutes late, driving his small Honda Civic down the street at over 50 miles over the speed limit. He was just rounding around a sharp turn down by the river when he suddenly realized that he was turning straight into a black Mercedes convertible. He tried to swerve of the road, but alas the convertible was driving straight into David's path. As he frantically tried avoiding the convertible, he decided to try and take a detour into the bushes on the side of the road, but alas he was not fast enough. Along with a smash, David heard a chorus of tires squeal as he scraped the stranger's car and flew into the hedge. As the car blew a hole into the once scenic shrubbery, David's thin glasses flew of his nose and crashed into the dashboard.
“Damn it!” David exclaimed. He grabbed his glasses and jammed them back on to his face, pushing back his three inch long brown hair. He grabbed his insurance card, driver's license, and keys as he got out of the car. “As if I don't pay enough on this stupid car anyway.” David walked up to his bumper to view the damage.
The end result was a dent and consequent gash in both car's paint coats about a meter. Not a great amount of damage, but enough to send David's already high insurance through the roof.