“Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit you?”
Cory groaned as he tried to move so he could see who’d asked. His ribs protested. Hell, everything protested. Someone put their hands on him to help him sit up. When he had, he saw an old man, obviously as homeless as he was.
“They did a number on you.”
“You could say that.” He looked around, panic stricken, sighing in relief when he saw his backpack a few feet away. “Punks getting their rocks off.” He eased over to pull the pack to him.
“s**t like that happens, especially these days. Pissed off at the world and the way it is and using us as punching bags.”
Cory nodded, assessing the damage he’d taken. Bruised ribs, bruised thigh, bruised, hell, everything. He touched his face and winced.
“You’re going to be a rainbow of colo
