I generally try to shy away from tight alleyways and other places that would be hard to flee.
That's not true. That didn't happen.
Up ahead was a narrow outdoor stairway. It bordered a creek which seemed to ascend into the trees. Piece of cake, "my day's workout" I told myself. Halfway up a shirtless, dreadlocked, tattooed black man noticed me coming and became noticeably more excited. I stereotype, so this didn't seem good.
He rushed up. He needed my help.
Now I felt the need to at least listen here, and when I slowed he held up his elbow. All I could see was blood and all I could notice was its size, swollen up. All he was asking was for me to wrap it up with this scarf, "you know, like they do in the hospital."
It was at this point where, curiously, my mind was worried about my defenseless self having both my hands tied up in a task, while I was somehow elsewhere. "How strange this is" I thought, and I smiled.
"Can you help me out man? Mah arm's all swolled up. Yeah, yeah." And a billion other only partially relevant statements flooded from him while I did my work. His name was Flowers, and pretty soon I knew what happened, where he worked, what he was doing the night before, and how old he was. And we still had to walk the other half of the stairs.
By the top I had a better picture of what he thought about things. He was a "doctor of the streets" but his wife worked at a hospital. I knew she was going to take care of him. And I knew he was on his way to take care of that 40oz beer in the plastic bag.
"You know how to get to Laney College?" I asked him.
"Yeah," he said, "I'm going that way, you can follow me."
