It’s 10:45pm. I get off the N at Duboce Park and am walking up the wiggle when I hear the distinct sound of a car hitting something. And then I see a bike flying through the air. Literally. A riderless bike flying through the fucking air. The pedestrians across the way run into the street. The car is pulled halfway out of its parking spot. The dude is lying (laying?) on the street holding his head. The pedestrians are talking to him, holding him still. I pull out my phone and call 911 because, surprisingly, nobody else has.

“911, state your emergency,” she answers.

“Yeah, there’s a vehicle to bike accident at Haight street and Pierce street.”

“8th street and Pierce street?”

8th and Pierce? I think. Do 8th and Pierce ever intersect?

I say again, “Haight and Pierce.”

“Ah, Haight and Pierce,” she says. “Let me get you San Francisco. This is CHP. Please hold for San Francisco.”

Now there’s this weird transaction where CHP is talking to San Francisco and now they both talk to me and now it’s only San Francisco.

“Pierce and Haight?” San Francisco asks. “We got a report of one at Waller and Fillmore, but you’re at Pierce and Haight?”

Bike dude is up and walking around. His bike is fucked. Everybody else has gone.

“He’s up and walking around,” I say.

“Is he injured?” she asks.

“He got hit by a car. And he’s bleeding from the side of his face.”

“Any heavy bleeding?”

“No.”

“We’re sending an ambulance and police. Tell him not to move too much and not to eat or drink anything and if he has to lay down, to lay on his side in case he starts to vomit.” She’s obviously busy, reading through the sheet, has to move on to the next call.

So now it’s just me, driver, and bike guy. Driver wants to leave. Bike guy does too.

“What do you think I should do?” he asks me.

“Man, I don’t know. But your head’s bleeding and an ambulance is on its way. And you never can tell with a head injury. Sure, you feel fine now, but two hours from now, you’re dead.”

“Oh shit,” he says. “You called an ambulance?”

“Yeah,” I say. But I’m feeling foolish because he does seem okay.

He says, “I did land pretty hard on my head.”

“Then you should probably just wait. I hear them coming now.” The fire truck roars around the corner. four police cars scream from the four directions. And I don’t have to worry anymore.

My friend once told me that he just wanted to leave after his accident because he was embarrassed. And I can see that. It is embarrassing probably, all that attention, all those lights flashing and streets closed, focused on you. But this is what we pay taxes for.