Don’t worry, this guy didn’t really want to drive trucks.
His real dream was to move to New York City and dance cabaret in drag at Lucky Cheng’s.
I like to think once it set in how fucked he was, he pulled his three hundred pound, six foot seven inch body from the wreckage, took out his wallet and dropped the Missouri issued CDL on to the asphalt and walked off no longer Robert Michaelson. Instead he became Bertha Bladstone, the baddest bitch in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
Maybe he is living in a two bedroom five floor prewar walk-up right now, on Monitor Street, with ten other guys.
Maybe his plan is to jump off the Williamsburg Bridge when the tip money dries up.
That or he knows it’s inevitable that he will pop too much smack one night and cook off really quiet like with a real big smile on his face and a huge dump in his pants.
Just like the one he dropped the day he crashed his truck into this overpass.