I stopped in the lane and put on my four-way flashers, called 911, then got out to see if he needed any immediate help. He was -- disoriented is a nice way to put it. (He should not have been driving.) He asked me what he should do, and I suggested if he was feeling up to it, moving a little more toward the edge of the road wouldn't be a bad idea, but help was on the way.
The first sheriff's deputy had to have been less than a minute in arriving, followed in quick succession by a Cayuga Heights police officer and a couple of CHFD rescuers in their own vehicles. (Did a double-take when one got out of his car and said "Hey, Mark." No, of course I shouldn't be surprised.) Another couple of minutes, and a fire truck was there.
I let them know that he'd told me he was the only one in the car, but I hadn't checked in or around it beyond a quick glance, so they gave it a good going-over just in case. They asked a few questions about whether I'd been involved in the accident, how I'd found him, and what else he'd said, then took down some contact info and told me I could go.
The adrenaline meant it was a while before I was interested in going to sleep, so I'm even a little logier than usual for a Thursday. (Trivia moving from 10 to 9 has helped a lot, but I'm sometimes still out until last call on Wednesdays.)