Walking Wounded

Slow-walking through midtown, one enters the realm where people fly by like agents from The Matrix. I walked with the elderly, the injured, the disabled. You end up with those who share your pace. There was a nod from a well-dressed elderly gentleman, offering me a look that said, “Would you look at these maniacs?” I was in awe of the blind as they traversed the city with their service dogs. How did they do it? I noticed the home care workers out for a stroll, pushing the wheelchairs of those in their charge. How could I complain about being slow when I was blessed enough to walk? Occasionally I saw people like me: too young to be walking so slowly.