I worked late tonight. Which matters not to this story, other than to establish the setting. I was driving down a dark, curvy suburban road and I saw the car in front of me hit an opossum and never even slow down. Honestly, there's a pretty good chance the driver never saw the thing because it darted out pretty close, but I was surprised not to even see brake lights after what surely must have been a decent bump. But while the driver's (lack of) humanity might have been disappointing, it wasn't what drove me to recount the scene.
There was another witness. Another opossum, in fact, of similar size and speed. Just...luckier I guess. I probably didn't brake as much as it felt like I did, but time seemed to slow down as I rolled by to see him (no, I don't know how to tell the difference, but I'm assuming masculinity) stood in the other lane, looking back at his fallen comrade in a pool of fresh blood, then at me. It was as if he was trying to decide whether he should go back and help. Or see if I would stop to do the same. Or maybe he was just slowly processing the whole thing.
And then he just turned around, and finished crossing the road, probably never to return. To do whatever it is that his kind does. Because that's what he set out to do, and all he could do. Because that's life, really. And I just kept driving, careful to avoid the corpse.
Anyway, that was about an hour ago.