New York City is as authoritarian as a communist country. Right now, I’m stuck at a STOP sign.
No go sign.
I must get to the hospital NOW.
I dash across the street. I barely make it.
It’s hard to breathe; I am overweight. I smoke.
My chest hurts.
I find my dad. He’s covered in a blanket; I remove it. It’s a million degrees outside, and I’m wilting.
I assume he was glad to see me, though he didn’t say so.
He was never much for conversation; this time was no exception.
So, I tell him about my day.
