You are the person who rear-ended me on the freeway from a dead stop after our traffic lane had slowed for construction. I’m not sure if your foot slipped or you thought our lane was moving, but you ran into me with enough force to knock everything in my car off the seats and into the footwells. As traffic started to move again, I signaled to you to move over to the shoulder so we could exchange information, but you took that as a sign to drive off. So here I am, trying to maneuver across four lanes of traffic to the nearest exit while avoiding exceedingly dangerous traffic conditions, and you just scoot off down the 405. Joke’s on you, though: My trailer hitch absorbed the entire impact, leaving me with nary a scratch, while you, however, probably have a new front contour.
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