Around 12:30 a.m. on Jan. 31, Seamus O’Bryan clocked out at the Old Globe Theatre, where he worked as a prop master.
At 32, O’Bryan had seen the world, even sailed to remote islands to help build clinics and deliver medical supplies. But for now, San Diego was home. And this was going to be a good night. His friend, Peter Newbigin, was visiting from Australia.
O’Bryan got on his motorcycle and picked up Newbigin, who rode on the back. The two planned to park the bike at O’Bryan’s house, then walk to a bar. But as they drove down University Avenue in North Park, in a blink, everything changed.
Newbigin suddenly felt O’Byran’s muscles go tense, and peeked around his friend’s helmet to see white, rushing headlights. A moment later, they were tumbling across the pavement.