“So, what’s your name?” Scott’s rescuer sat next to him on the lip of the ditch and rummaged through the first-aid kit. He turned the flashlight on and peered into Scott’s eyes, which was painful and annoying. Scott wondered if the guy even knew why he was doing that, or if he’d just seen too many hospital procedural shows on the television.
“Scott Seay.”
“Where you from, Scott?”
“Baltimore,” he answered.
“Tourist?”
“Something like that.” Work, actually, but he didn’t feel like explaining.
“Do you know who the current president is?”
Scott forgot how badly his head hurt and rolled his eyes, answering the question.
“It’s always good to check,” the guy said. “People usually remember their own names, or their birthdays, but if you said Bush, or Clinton, I’d know that you had some time-
