I fall into an open personhole.

As I am climbing out, a car parks on top of the hole. I call up to the driver, explain my predicament. He hears me but refuses to give up the spot, even briefly. He’d been driving around for a half an hour looking for a place to park, he yells down to me. I do understand his predicament as I’m sure he understands mine. And I tell him so. We understand each other’s predicament, we conclude. There is something about the yarmulke on my head that does remind me to put myself in the other fellow’s shoes. That is a good thing. He says he is heading downtown and I should do the same. If he spots another manhole, he will pry it open for me with the crowbar he keeps in his hollow leg. I nod, which serves no purpose, as he cannot see me, and begin to make my way south, sloshing through the fetid water. There should be more kindness in the world. I do have a bit of time till I’m due at Charlie Rose’s studio and I need to head south anyway. And, really, when it comes down to it, the fact that the fellow was so honest about his predicament and also seemed sympathetic to my predicament, which I was honest about, encourages me to not make a stink (ha ha!), and the truth is, I’m down here already anyway, so why not continue on my way down here? And the truth is, when I think about it, if I’m down here, I can’t fall down here because I’m already down here. So there’s that.