When I came out of the bank the blind man was being hoisted into the ambulance, one of those boxy affairs, more a truck than the kind we used to have, which were low and sleek station wagons, making me aware, on seeing the man being hoisted in, that the hearse, a direct relative to the ambulance, hasn’t kept up with the evolution of styles, or else has stayed back in the past for some good reason. A blind man is being put into the ambulance, I thought, because one of the EMS technicians had put his cane neatly alongside of him, though not under the blanket but next to the man and held down by the Velcro straps. The blood was clearly evident, and I heard talk near me of what had happened, that the man had taken a tumble, had fallen head over heels, someone said, no kidding, actually did a little somersault/cartwheel on the way down, you should’ve seen it, this blind guy comes out and this other guy comes behind him to help and it looks, well, it looks as if this man gives him a push instead of helping, and then next thing you know the blind guy’s falling. Down amid the crowd I spot blue shirts, badges, notepads out, a man in handcuffs, or not cuffs but those little elastic straps they use when they arrest a bunch of people at once, demonstrators and the like, mass arrests more than anything, but sometimes used instead of handcuffs to avoid the stigma of metal cuffs; this very elegant man in a fine suit coat and a tie, thin, maybe gaunt, very European-looking, I think, a slightly bewildered look on his face, eyeing the crowd as it closed in on him with ears cocked (if ears can cock) to hear his side of the story, and he’s looking through the crowd right at me, and we exchange what seems to be a kind of knowing glance, though I’ve never seen him before, I don’t think, not sure, doing a search of my memory because in this town you mostly know everybody. I don’t know him. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him before. But to be sure, I get a bit closer, shoving through the crowd, and get up near him and see that he is a very dainty man, very refined up close with a very thin veneer of sweat over his whole face, from top to bottom. He nods in a knowing way that says he somehow recognizes me, too, and is going through his own mental records to try to make the connection. But before he can speak—because his mouth is open—he is whisked away, held on both sides by the cops who have to get him through the crowd, which is closing in, a few people shouting and calling him an asshole and saying he should be shot, pushing a blind man down stairs like that, until out of impulse I am shouting at him, too, going with it, yelling, You’re the most vile bastard on the face of the earth, how dare you push a poor soul down the stairs, a blind man no less, blind as a bat, blind as Lear, how can such evil be allowed to coexist with all the good things of this earth? And so on and so forth as I work my way as close to him as I can, so that I’m hanging over him, right behind the cop, as he’s forced down into the car seat, though he isn’t resisting at all.