A driver and a pedestrian meet in the street

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Story-time

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Once upon a time, yesterday in fact, Mac the Motorhead stood in the middle of 8th Street next to his stalled out Plymouth. It was the beginnings of rush hour, which is to say that the drivers were rushing to this place or that and not getting there any quicker. Mac stood, his hood popped, half-heartedly directing traffic around him. He was really hoping someone, anyone, would stop, but with each car that passed, not one applied their brakes enough to care. There were dozens of steel boxes on wheels with single occupants that barely gave a glance. Mac, an older man without a phone, started to scan the world for options. Something, anything, to get him out of this mess.

Appearing suddenly, previously and usually unseen, was Petey the Pedestrian standing across the street waiting for the endless traffic to cease so he may cross. The scene of Mac’s stalled-out hassle was in the path of Petey’s walk commute home. He had watched Mac’s story unfold over the last three blocks and he had lost count at 43,or so, cars that simply passed.

Petey had chosen to be unencumbered by a steel box on wheels. He was free from the stress and touch of anxiety that comes with being in an unproductive rush, and had no question of his duty–if he could just cross the street, which isn’t so hard when you mind the gaps.

Once Petey crossed, and without rush or hesitation, he approached Mac and his Plymouth, extended his hand with a smile, and said these three words, “need a push?”

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Epilogue

As the two men were pushing the dead Plymouth across three lanes, Mac urged them to be careful and to pause to let on-coming traffic pass. He wasn’t worried as much as he was deferring. Pushing from the rear and just building up steam, Petey hooted, “na, they can wait.”

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