everything is going crazy around here, and by everything, i mean, work is crazy, people are yelling, people are complaining, my muscles are pulling away from my bones in a minor sports injury and i don't care. who cares? there is nothing like a full-blown tragedy to put life back into perspective.
there are so many stories, as there always are. the one where the man had to watch his wife float away.
and then this:
i read in today's news about a woman whose husband had cancer. he was on oxygen and they ran out of oxygen, she went to get help and by the time she came back, he was dead. she floated his body out to a main street on some boards. nobody would take the body to a morgue. the police couldn't help. nobody could help.
finally someone helped her flag down someone to take the body in. the news said:
Finally, about three hours after Bowie died, Miller flagged down a passing flatbed truck filled with downed tree limbs. After some heated words and an offer of $20, he persuaded the driver to take the body to Charity Hospital, where the police had directed them.
Turner helped load the body into the truck bed, then climbed aboard.
The truck turned and made its way into the French Quarter, where jazz bands are known to lead joyful funeral processions through the storied streets. But the streets were deserted Tuesday, and there was no music for Bowie, just the whirring of helicopter blades above.
the man who helped her had this to say:
"I'm hurt to my heart with this," the grizzled man said. "To see the city stoop this low. It shouldn't be, mister. It should not be."
yes, sir.
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