new orleans slow dance

I wonder if some people would find us despicable
for playing our fiddle as the world burns down

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today on the way home, as I was passing the business end of the QMC, I came across a man lying on his belly on the sidewalk in front of a bus stand just outside the hospital compound - one of those modern green ones adorned with advertisements and complete with a glass awning. As I walked towards him, my first thought was that he was a hobo, fast in the clutches of some drunken stupor, and that he couldn't have picked a worse spot to collapse - right beside a main street with cars whizzing past, in a spot that obstructed the disembarkation and boarding of public transport, face-down on the hard, unaccommodating asphalt.

Then I noticed he had a cast wrapped around his left arm and tied around his neck, in the same way we were taught to do as part of our basic first aid module. As I drew closer, I noticed his unnatural posture - lying prone with the right arm underneath his chest with his chin resting upon his right hand, left thigh stretched out laterally and leg bent at roughly 90 degrees with the right leg fully extended. I should have realised sooner - he had been lying in the recovery position - one that was quite sloppy but recognisable nonetheless. By this point I had almost passed the man. I heard him groan and saw his body sway slightly indicating some level of awareness. As I continued along my trajectory, I found that the path I had taken was one that gave the unconscious man a wide berth - almost effortlessly, without premeditation or deliberation, I had avoided him; 3 meters was about the closest I ever got to him - as if I was subject to some self-imposed restraining order or as if tracing an invisible locus around a set of coordinates bound by some inequality - like if I got too close I would somehow be forced to take responsibility and do something about it, but at a certain distance it was acceptable to ignore the situation - besides, he was already in the recovery position.

Somebody must have come by and taken it upon themselves to help him. They probably went into the hospital looking for help or to call an ambulance. They couldn't have just left an unconscious man to fend for himself on the busy streets of Nottingham, right? I mean, a person should finish what they begin, right? And it's best not to interfere in other people's business, right? The thoughts cropped up like eager volunteers. No sooner had the arguments presented themselves that a conclusion began to form in my mind - like a chemical reaction, the words precipitated so easily: he was somebody else's problem now. A group of people were loitering at the bus stand adjacent, some in uniform, others dressed in hoodies and trackpants, but nobody went near the unconscious man. I continued advancing as if inexorably drawn but my eyes and attention were reluctant to follow - hopelessly fixated by the peculiar scene I had witnessed -

a restless dreamer waiting to be rescued a few yards from the hospital entrance as good people simply stared