I wrote this at 3:00 AM this morning on Facebook.  I thought I’d post it here, too.

I really thought I had let this go, but it’s 3:00 AM and I can’t get to sleep. I keep seeing her.
I was walking up 16th to rehearsal tonight and walked past a woman lying on the sidewalk, a man sitting next to her, leaning against a parking meter. I walked a little further and decided I had to check.
I walked back. “Is she okay?”
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite understand, put his hand on her thigh, gave her a little shake, and said something about her being okay. He asked me for a dollar.
“I’m not here about money. I want to make sure she’s okay.” I stare at her chest trying to see if it’s moving. If she’s breathing, it’s really shallow.
He suggests that for $40 I can have sex with her.
Damn! He’s pimping her and she’s passed out. I walk away. But I don’t get far before I pull the phone out of my pocket and call 911. I explain the situation. The operator says they’re dispatching paramedics. And it’s another three to five minutes before they show up.
I’m still a quarter of a block up the street, waiting to make sure they find her. They do and I continue walking to rehearsal. The situation’s taken care of.
Except, tonight — this morning, really — I can’t get to sleep because I keep seeing her, and I keep thinking about all the people who walked by, and I keep thinking that I should have touched her to really check if she was breathing and had a pulse

Dressed like a prostitute, passed out (or worse) on the sidewalk in a busy city, I keep thinking, “She was someone’s daughter.”

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