I didn't run into him at all this week. I chalked it up to chance; we were both busy and just never were in the same place at the same time.
So on Friday afternoon, I stopped by his office, partly with a work-related question and partly to check in and visit. I asked his officemates where he was, assuming he was in a meeting.
"He was in a car crash," they said, and told me the story.
It turns out he'll be okay. He broke his foot, is a little bruised, and has a gash on his temple. He'll be out of work for a while, as they have to do some surgery on his ankle. We dropped by his house yesterday with my Netflix copy of Rushmore and two six-packs, as we couldn't really drag him to the Rose and Crown with us.
Additionally, another coworker has come down with pneumonia, and I've spent the week glued to news sites (I'd say "glued to my computer screen," but that's not too out of the ordinary) reading the news on Hurricane Katrina. Apparently Frank got sick last week too.
My advice: stay away from me, as you're liable to get sick, be hit by a car, or have a hurricane destroy your home.