The other day we were going to get America-hating Arab food and this old man was walking down the street to get to his car (ahead of us) and fell off the curb and into the street. I tried to keep a straight face as if I hadn’t seen anything and kept walking, as he rolled around back and forth very confused. James slowed down, wondering what he should do, so I shoved my fingers into his side to keep him moving.
My thought process was that the old man’s ego would be wounded if we tried to help him. He’s probably a Dubya-Dubya-Two vet and HE DOESN’T NEED HELP FROM MEDDLIN’ KIDS LIKE US and shouldn’t we be in school and rock music is the devil. Others in my party, on the other hand, mentioned that he probably broke his hip or something and now we’re going to hell.