Walking down Camden Street on Thursday afternoon I passed an elderly man, sitting on the stoop of one of the Georgian houses. He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, he looked rattled. There was a girl sitting with him, one arm under his to support him while he dabbed at the cut with a wad of tissue, the other hand clutching a mobile phone. I was, as I always am, absorbed in my own little world. It was only when I drew level with them that the scene registered with me - he'd fallen and she'd stopped, steadied him and called for help. I didn't stop. Didn't even lower my headphones.
That same evening, I turned the corner onto Mount St. Lower to see the traffic backed up behind a small green car which had broken down in the middle of the street. I watched as the driver struggled out of his seatbelt, opened the door and set himself to push it. He was in his fifties, portly, unfit, flustered. I slowed my walk, shifted the weight of the shopping bags that were cutting into my palms. Thought of the old man with the bloodied face and the worried girl sat beside him. But I didn't stop. After the longest pause, a man at the bus stop put his bag on the ground and moved towards the car to help. I didn't look back, but by the time I reached my crossing the traffic was moving again.
Karma is going to come knocking for me. And I fear he will not be wearing his kid gloves.
That same evening, I turned the corner onto Mount St. Lower to see the traffic backed up behind a small green car which had broken down in the middle of the street. I watched as the driver struggled out of his seatbelt, opened the door and set himself to push it. He was in his fifties, portly, unfit, flustered. I slowed my walk, shifted the weight of the shopping bags that were cutting into my palms. Thought of the old man with the bloodied face and the worried girl sat beside him. But I didn't stop. After the longest pause, a man at the bus stop put his bag on the ground and moved towards the car to help. I didn't look back, but by the time I reached my crossing the traffic was moving again.
Karma is going to come knocking for me. And I fear he will not be wearing his kid gloves.
