One of John’s favorite things was the view of the Brooklyn Bridge from the East River. He would sometimes walk there early in the morning when it was still very dark in order to see the city in first light. Often he would see others there who were walking and enjoying the city as well. He was somewhere near Squibb Park when someone came up behind him. She had really blonde hair and was very beautiful, and she bumped him roughly as she was running quickly by. He fell, painfully, on his side, and so the woman stopped and was jogging in place as she asked if he was okay. So, he thought, what am I going to do now?
John loves the view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the city from the East River. His favorite way to start his day is with a morning walk just in time for the magic twilight of sunrise landing on the bridge and city buildings. Even at that time of day, it wasn’t a solitary experience. Squibb Park was popular with people of all walks, and joggers too. This one could have been a Nike advert all of her own until she ran right into him from behind.
She might have been beautiful, possibly a movie star with her bleach blonde hair, but none of that mattered now. Her voice shrank as she asked if he was okay. His skull was cracked in at least one place, he envisioned for a moment. From 30 feet up looking down on himself, he saw an angel opening its wings; more likely, what also came out of each outdoor eye corner, sticky and not sweet, two-inch-deep black molasses, had spread more than 6 feet on each side of him.
He could still hear Obvious Blonde, with her headphones loaded, was still bouncing down the joggers' path across the bridge with a louder than normal squelch that flung one of her running shoes off her foot, flying into the air and back towards John, landing with a sudden spatter-thump that sounded like a sloppy Velcro peel-off.
This is it, he thought to himself. What do I do now?
