Troy had, regretfully, run out of Hot Pockets. Really, other than the idea of being stuck here forever and never seeing Abed or Britta or any of the study group again other than on his televison, there was nothing that bothered Troy more. He could've sworn he'd stocked up, but after the third episode of Britt's show — and damn that girl was hot when she danced; which wasn't to say she wasn't hot anyway — he'd crawled out of the blanket fort in his living room and headed to the kitchen only to be met by disappointment. So, off to the grocery store he'd gone.
He was checking the forum on his phone as he walked toward the corner, plastic bag chock full of a variety of Hot Pocket boxes, when he heard the horns blaring and his head snapped up quickly, alarmed that maybe he'd done it again and walked right out into traffic without paying attention. He hadn't. Some other dude had, though.
"Oh shit! Dude!" he called out, breaking into a jog to close the gap between them and wincing at the sound of metal on metal as the cars seemed to pile up as the guy staggered back. "That was awesome!" he huffed, impressed and excited, even as the guy toppled over, landing on his ass. "Oh man," he laughed, approaching the fallen fellow and holding a hand out to help the guy up. "You should've seen that. You almost got clocked. That was the coolest thing I've ever seen!" He paused at that. "I'm Troy," he added as an afterthought.
It probably should've occurred to Troy to ask the guy if he was all right, or perhaps to be a bit more sensitive to the fact that, clearly, this dude was freaking out and was probably a new arrival. Troy wasn't, however, the brightest bulb in the box. He tended to speak before thinking and this happened to be one of those times. Far too impressed by the fact that he'd just witnessed a pile up of what Troy considered to be epic proportions, the thought of checking whether ol' boy was okay didn't even cross his mind.