Today

The man stumbled into the road. His face contained none of the warmth of a drunk business man but all of the brow's surprise. Those of us standing on the other side of the street started and stopped, expecting him to have seen the light change whereas the rest of us, busy with our cellphone television shows and thoughts, hadn't. I looked up from the text I was constructing to the sound of a green, crosstown bus and him stopping, lined up upon the crosswalk, directly in front of the double yellow. The bus accelerated and stopped a few times as we had a the cross.

He stood there. There was something mumbled and he slapped himself on the face, hard, as if accepting wrong doing. Like his standing in traffic, as cars moved all around and the bus turning toward him, was his penance for something unseen or unknown.

Then, the light did change at the four-way stop, the green man lit up, and we didn't let up on the accelerator. He reached out to me as I passed him, like he was confused, asking for directions or an alien new to our world. I kept going. His gaze followed me until I crossed his shoulders and he turned to face forward again.

The crowd said nothing. As if fully aware of the man's dilemma but prevented by cultural or social stigma to say or do anything.

Across the street and obstructed by the tunnel entrance I couldn't see if he had moved until I moved again and he hadn't. His knees were still bent at 90 degree angles, like preparing for an impact, and his hips locked.

* * *

Lined up along the street were three police buses with tinted windows and no drivers. As if the warden of the prison had decreed that today was "enjoy yourself day". Prisoners were allowed to walk among us, enter Lotte World to buy presents for their families or decorations for their cells, and ride the rides at the indoor amusement park. A large advertisement on the middle bus displayed seven police officers, sitting on a picnic blanket with two children taking pleasure in the day.