MOORE — The mist came down so heavy it was just like rain. Even the fast-speed on the windshield wipers could barely keep up with clearing the windshield. To top it off, it was cold. Not the kind of weather to be walking around in shorts and a T-shirt.
But there he was. A man in his mid-to-late 30s, and he was getting drenched. He stood in the driveway of a convenience store, waiting to cross the street. He held two soda cans in one hand. There were several apartment buildings on the other side of the busy road.
From appearances it looked like he dashed out of his apartment to get something to drink and hoped to dash back into his warm abode.
I was on the opposite side of the road heading for a fast-food restaurant. Upon closer look, you could see he was perplexed. He was obviously having a difficult time crossing the street. He looked one way and then the other, waiting for a clear path.
I traveled down the street, went through the drive-thro and headed toward home. This took me on the same side of the street as the man I had passed about 15 minutes earlier.
To my surprise, he was still standing there, only his movements were frantic. He looked back and forth and wiped his forehead with his forearm, totally agitated.
“Why didn’t these cars stop to let him pass?” I said as I drove by. “Why didn’t I stop and ask him if I could drive him home? Why didn’t the police officer sitting in his car just a few yards down the road offer him assistance? Why didn’t someone get out of their car, take his arm and escort him safely across the street?”