It's strange that nobody has stopped to pass yet, you think, as you stand next to your employer's unconscious body. If you had your phone, you could just call an ambulance. If your car wasn't wrecked, you could call anonymously and get the hell out of here. You don't have your phone, though, your car is trash, and your boss...is he breathing? You check for a pulse and try to catch signs of breath by using the full culmination of your medical training (none, to be exact). You're pretty sure he's not waking up. Well, great; now you've killed your boss. At least he can't fire you.
You slouch down next to the cadaver's car (the cardaver, if you will), sitting in a scattering of broken glass from one of the windows which exploded in the sudden impact. You don't even care about what's beneath you, though. Soon the police will be here. So far, not a single car has gone by. How long has it been? Seconds or hours? Has the sun set and risen? You're not sure, but you sit and wait. You wait through rain and snow and searing heat. You wait forever. You wait until you wake up.