I liked Central Park. It reminded me of the Buttes-Chaumont in one part and of Princes Street Gardens in another. The fountain with its angelic statue was impressive. When I passed it on my second round, I thought of "Angels in America" and Prior Walter. More life. I quietly smiled to myself as I remembered researching the play's code in gay Soho.
The e-scooter had appeared from out of nowhere. I can't even say if the rider had said anything before he crashed into my left side, sending me into the bushes. I fell and hit my head on a borderstone of the pavement. I must have passed out for a moment because when I opened my eyes, a man was standing over me watching me from worried eyes. I tried to sit up but instantly felt nauseous and lay back again.
"Are you alright?" the man asked and I before I could scold him for his redundancy, he added, "Anything broken?"
"N-no," I answered and made another attempt at getting up. This time, I managed to sit and take in the man. He looked nice, about the same age as me, of average height, with a funny round face that was too unremarkable to merit description. His brown hair was a mess, and his glasses looked like they were straight from the 80s. He wore an extraordinarily bright shirt though.
"This must be Hell," I smiled at him, nodding at the fashion atrocity, "Only the Devil could pull off that shirt." He stared, but more in a puzzled way. Still, he pretended to be insulted and defended his choice in fabric while he helped me get off the ground.
"Not the Devil - just Daniel," he said, "Maybe I should call an ambulance. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"
"Oh no, no coffee, thank you. Milk and honey would be more like it," I turned the ambulance down, brushed some dirt off my clothes and told him I was alright. I gave the shirt another smile and slowly walked away.
