Aaron drove his new-to-him truck to work in the dark. It wasn't dark because it was the crack of dawn; it was dark because he worked the overnight, and it was winter. Dark came early in winter.
He was very pleased with his truck because it was the newest vehicle he had ever owned, and the driver's side door didn't squeal embarrassingly when it opened and shut. He hated working the overnight. He hated his job. He hated his tie.
The door to Aaron's truck swung open silently. He was already picturing the reluctant trudge into work as he slammed the truck door firmly shut, more energetically than was necessary. The force of the shove, an unusual show of muscle for Aaron, caused him to slip on the ice. His midnight lunch flew comically high in the air as his feet slid out from under him. Aaron hit the ground with lung-clearing force, and the sheet of ice carried his body completely under the cab of his truck. He heard his lunch hit the ground behind him.
Tonight was not going to be a good night.
