The blood dribbled out of his mouth. Sweat rolled down The Van Man's face as he laid on the floor in the back of his van. He pulled out the gory gauze from inside his mouth. Where there had been a molar was now a bloody ditch. The gum tissue was splayed outward in all directions, kind of like a mortared spot of battlefield. He was lucky. There had not been much pain and what pain there was had been soothed by the pills. The Grad Students had yanked out the festering tooth and now he might make it.
The online world had little good news to offer Van Man. Trump was to debate with GOPs and another movie theater attack. Videos of sub-humans afflicting atrocities on others, but aimed for the zeitgeist with titles like "One Lunatic, One Ice Pick" and "Three Men, One Hammer". There were sick and vile bags of garbage in the world. Beyond human reason or possibility. But they existed.
Yes, The Van Man might make it, but the world probably would not. And in his van, he laid, bleeding and sweating. He was one of the good ones.