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There was something just not right about the way she was laying - crumpled, head underneath her chest, with what looked like a whisky bottle a few inches away, wedged between a light pole and a fence across from a busy train station.
It set off my inner Batman.
"Is she dead?"
"Nah, just super drunk."
We walked on. Its not unusual to see people passed out around here, they get their booze at 7/11 or their fent from their hook up at the station, and need their fix NOW. At least she did it here and not at the playground down the street. Surely, if she were dead, someone would have called authorities.
No. Two hours later, its time for work.
She's still there. Still in a pile, wedged between concrete and steel. Someone's swiped her bottle of Jack. Its now obvious she's not breathing.
Across the intersection, a group of Jehovah's Witnesses look everywhere but forward, as they pretend not to see the dead woman on the corner. They can't even bring themselves to harass me.
I make sure there's no one else around as I call the police. The bot who answers tells me to call 911 if I'm in danger, otherwise the line isn't open weekends. *click*
Fuck.
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Mati
You can judge a society by how it responds to its most vulnerable. Indifference at best, laughter at worst - America as it currently stands is irredeemable.