I don’t like people, never did, never will, especially Manhattan people.
And here I am, 42nd Street, outside Grand Central Station, crawl around in the gutter, got Mister Schmuckeroo Businessman lie here in the street like a crumple up raggedy doll bleed all over, ruin my beauty shirt and pants what I just buy new yesterday.
Schmuckeroo, ___ you ain’t never hear, 'Don’t cross the street in the middle, in the middle of the block'? Where you was in second grade, playing hooky?
Brooklyn Queens people is bad enough, ___ Manhattan think theys Superman.
___ Like this Putz ___ , look like one them dopey Pampaloma ass hole run with the bull get a cow horn stuck in his head, bleed his fancy suit and tie, white shirt blood splotch red, twist his body like a broke up chair run over by a truck, ___ exactly what he just done, dopey Mr. Schmuckeroo, ___ got hisself backed up over by a Fed Ex truck. Mister Manhattan Superman got X-ray hearing, walk around behind a back up truck with ear plugs in his head for music. Putz!
A fashionable young woman separates from the onlookers and bends towards the injured man.
“Hey! Hey Lady! Get back Lady! Leave the guy alone! In case you ain’t notice, this guy’s hurt bad.”
“He looks so, ___ uncomfortable lying there. ___ Let me straighten his back.”
Now I got here Mister Schmuckeroo and Misses Schmuckeroo.
“You straighten out his back Lady, you make him real comfortable, ___ you make him dead!”
The Good Samaritan steps in front of the intruding woman, and, kneeling in the crimson sludge, he removes his shirt, rips the sleeves from the shirt body, and tourniquets the pulsing scalp wound with one of the sleeves.
He then blankets the injured man with the shirt body, and, reaching under the blanket, he takes the man's wallet, folds it inside the second sleeve, wipes his bloody forearms with the wadded sleeve and wallet, and stuffs the wad into his own front right pants pocket.
An EMS vehicle pull obliquely behind the idling Fed Ex truck.
The EMS Paramedic opens the driver-side door, steps onto the running board and, grasping his medical bag in his right hand and the trucks chrome hold bar in his left hand, The Paramedic launches out of the truck cab and into the air, Geronimo! There's you're fucking Superman!; relevé, arabesque par terre, assemblé, land-kneel beside the injured man, pulse, stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, compression bandage Epinephrine, rhythm strip, saline, oxygen, ___ and pulse, ___ and stethoscope, ___ and wait ___
The paramedic adjusts the saline flow and smiles up at the Good Samaritan.
“You saved this guy's life, Fella.” The Good Samaritan bends and picks up the tatters of his shirt. “He was seventy over forty; that was his temporal artery you stopped bleeding.”
The Good Samaritan nods, kneels, makes the sign of the cross on the injured man's forehead In nomine Patris, and walks towards Lexington Avenue.