Ken waited patiently at a crosswalk. Leaning against the pole, he picked at a loose string hanging off his windbreaker. He was less than a block away from the grocery store he had in mind. He pondered on the groceries he planned to purchase. He didn't have to buy a loaf pan because he had swiped his grandfather's after he had passed. His parents had planned to throw it away, but Ken wouldn't stand for it. His parents never noticed it was gone, of course.

"I might have to cheap out on ground beef-" he mumbled to himself. He noticed there were other pedestrians around waiting along with him, so he stopped himself. "Everything else should be cheap enough to buy name brand," he thought.

He started calculating the costs of the ingredients in his head. Ken was a master budgeter. He figured if he bought a little extra beef, although low-quality, it should make leftovers for two or three days.

The red hand on the crosswalk light continued its countdown.

He figured that he could get whatever onions were cheapest per pound.

The countdown hit six.

He wondered if he should buy pre-made bread crumbs, or if he should make them himself with the bread he had at home.

Five.

He had ketchup at home, he didn't need any from the store.

Four.

The milk in his fridge had started to sour, so he'd pick up a half gallon.

Three.

He had salt and pepper at home, but he'd have to swing by the spice aisle for garlic powder and dried parsley.

Two.

He stopped leaning against the pole, and subconsciously readied himself to start walking. He walks past this crosswalk twice a day, after all. It was a normal event in his life. While his body readied for movement, his mind lingered on thoughts of potential side dishes.

One.

He stepped down from the curb and onto the asphalt. He started walking.

He paid no attention to the fact that the people around him didn't step onto the street with him, he had more important things on his mind, like if he wanted peas or corn to eat with his meatloaf. He paid no attention to the SUV coming flying into view towards him from his left side. He didn't even pay attention to the earsplitting scream of a woman behind him.

"WATCH OUT!"

The SUV made contact with Ken's left flank at something close to sixty miles per hour. Why someone would ever travel that speed on that particular street, Ken never found out.

One would expect that Ken saw the SUV coming a split second before it hit him, and that maybe time slowed down to a crawl. Maybe the scene was so clear for him that he could count the individual raindrops suspended in the air. Maybe his life would flash before his eyes, and he would recall all of his mistakes and regrets. This didn't happen for Ken. He had no idea he was slammed into, sent airborne off into the intersection, flipping head over heels. He had no idea he skidded on the pavement and slowed down to a stop, in view of everyone present. The screeches of pedestrians and drivers alike filled the air, but not Ken's ears.

He died at first contact. The whiplash from the initial hit broke his neck and killed him instantly. Kenneth's story on earth ended then and there.

His story, however, would continue elsewhere.

His last thoughts were those of meatloaf.

His waking thoughts were filled with the very same.