Walking down the street is an adventure in any not so familiar city.
Considering the sidewalks are ridden with holes and incomplete patch-up jobs, what I saw this morning showed a particularly adventurous spirit. No I’m not referring to the motorcycles that pseudo-suicidally weave in and out of traffic, or the brave pizza deliverer who roller blades between the yellow lines in the middle of the street, but simply a man walking on the sidewalk, reading. Maybe he was late for an exam or class and was cramming last minute; maybe he’s an aloof intellectual who prefers the printed page to the live, in-color show that surrounds everyone in the streets. Whoever he is, I applaud his bravery.
I used to do this in school. Waiting in the lunch line, walking in the halls. The walk and read was usually due to needing to cram more than a passion for literature. Only twice, or maybe three times, do I remember bumping into a wall or a pole. It hurt. But nothing serious happened.
My dad one-upped me. He used to study riding his bike to school. God knows how.
This man had sensors in his feet. I saw him approaching. Cars were coming and going from the driveways as he crossed and passed them. A significant hole was in front of him. Oh no, I thought. Don't fall. Just last week I watched my mom collapse onto the street from a stumble on a similar hole. She sat against a storefront unable to stand. Lots of people stopped to help. An old lady told us it had happened to her a few days earlier. Somebody else suggested suing the mayor. The sidewalks have always been full of dog poop, pick-pockets, and other obstacles to avoid, but the effort to maintain cobblestone or brick-like surfaces instead of cement seems like a failing battle considering all the missing pieces.
He stopped just in time, lowered the book for a moment, and crossed the street. I bet he could walk the path with his eyes closed. Muscle memory. Periphery vision. A local.
