The man stopped walking and clutched his chest, leaned towards the facade and collapsed. Guttural cries escaped his clenched teeth as I passed by. I looked over my shoulder and there he was, surrounded by people, everyone taking a few extra steps around him.
No one stopped.
When I got home, I stood by the window and looked out. The man died surrounded by people, of that I was sure, and the ambulance would not arrive until the next day, when his pockets were empty and stomach kicked up his throat.
Louis Armstrong sang on the radio, “What a wonderful world.”