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People park their cars on the sidewalk and run through red lights and stop signs and they block bus stops and when you cross the street if a car doesn’t get you a bicycle or a motorcycle surely will and I wish I had a cold Gatorade to drink right about now doesn’t matter the flavor and if you walk by one of those motorized bicycles keep your distance because their batteries tend to explode and in the city there are so many used syringes in the street on Eighth Avenue along with people who are loopy with drugs and dozens of people begging for a buck and the poor immigrants sitting around looking lost and it is SO FREAKING hot outside right now I feel like I’m gonna FAINT and thousands of pedestrians strolling on every block with stores asking $5 for a small cold bottle of water that costs them 10 cents at Costco but boy I would pay it right now if I could and if you ask for directions don’t hold your breath and if you go on Instagram you will see horribly offensive racist and misogynistic comments because everyone thinks only of themselves and motorists cut you off and don’t even signal and I wish I was home already and you can’t take a child to a ballgame because of the drunken behavior and curses being shouted because people. Just. Don’t. Care.

All of this revolves through my head as I run eastward down the Belt Parkway bike path towards home on a brutally steamy August morning. As I make my way around the large traffic circle at Canarsie Pier that leads motorists to the Belt’s eastward entrance, the heat finally gets to be too much for me. I pass the circle and when I finally reach Rockaway Parkway, I begin to pass. Out.

Just as I grab hold of the fence and bend over, an aforementioned idiot starts to blow his horn on the other side of the street. I barely manage to look up; all I can see of the car in question, which is stopped where it shouldn’t be, is a Haitian flag flying from its window.

I can’t tell if I know the guy; everything is shrouded in haze. I manage to ‘run’ another dozen steps, then stop again and squat down, looking for a grassy spot for my head to fall on, prepared to say so long to consciousness for a few minutes.

Then a car right next to me starts tapping his horn. I look up to see the same car I saw a few minutes earlier, across the street. Instead of getting on the Belt Parkway, the driver bypassed the entrance – in heavy traffic – and went completely around the circle. About a quarter mile. Just to continue to blow his horn at me.

A man gets out of the car and approaches. Uh-oh.

“You okay, brother?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

I look at him for a few seconds before responding. What’s up with this guy?

“I’m okay,” I lie. “It happens sometimes.”

“You don’t look so good,” he says, Then he reaches into his car and pulls out a bottle of water, and walks towards me. He hands me the water.

“Sip it slow,” he says.

I do as I am told, then dump the rest over my head.

“You want me to drive you home?” he asks.

This stranger is actually worried about me.

“I can do that. Why not let me drive you home?”

Now my head is really spinning. Who is this guy? Is he a saint? Where did he come from?

“No, I’ll be okay,” I tell him.

“Okay, brother. Take better care of yourself,” he says, as he walks back to his car.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “You just went completely out of your way because you thought I needed help?” I ask. “Don’t you have to be somewhere?”

He looks back and smiles. “There are more important things than work,” he tells me, then climbs back into his car.

“Thank you,” I finally say. “You’re…really terrific.”

He drives off.

As I half lurch, half stumble home, someone runs a red light, almost running a lady down. I get pissed off.

But not that much.