"I have worked TOO hard and TOO long to be treated this way!" The suited man continued to gather the groceries from the ground, having been clipped by a bike messenger moments before.
He shouted after this fast-moving cyclist: "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?"
With a flip of his middle finger, the cyclist turned a corner and went on with his business.
The man in the suit was Tim Jones, and irate. All day people had been stepping on him, giving him crummy service, and pushing him aside to get their work done. At the coffee shop, as he was ordering his Cafe Latte with Skim and Nutmeg, the barrista had the nerve to ask if he could wait for her to finish up two previous orders, apparently she was the only one working. He didn't deserve that, and grumbled loudly the entire time, tapping his loafer and fingering his PDA violently.
Afterwards, there was a moment in the elevator where someone was getting off, and he was getting on, both in a hurry, and both checking their watches. The person exiting didn't have the decency to hold the elevator while Tim raced toward it. He missed it, and was kept waiting for nearly three whole minutes.
This cyclist was the final straw. After he managed to pile his groceries into the trunk of his SAAB, he locked the car, and ran after the man's direction. Sure, he was on bike, but Tim had been through enough today, and a good run would certainly take the edge off-- especially when the outcome would be knocking this kid's block off.
Traffic ignored him, nearly hitting him several times. Pedestrians looked concerned for fleeting moments, before returning to their business. Tim ran, and found his eyes affixed on the cyclist, two lights down from him. He would push on, reach this kid, and pummel him. He was certain of this.
When he made it to his destination, the brown jeep was riding over him, and left him a crumpled mess in the intersection of Olive St. and Fifth Avenue. He deserved better than this.
He woke up with a start, asking the nurse: "where the fuck is that kid?"
Taken aback, but rather used to undeserved outbursts like this, she told him where he was, and that he had been in a coma for six months and ten days.
After this outburst, he seemed to lose any semblence of who he once was. When the nurse retold him that he asked about some kid, he had no clue what this meant.
On the mend, and on multiple medications, his doctor came to him and sat him up for a talk.
"Well, Mister Jones, you seem to have amnesia. There's usually a pretty sure-fire way to cure this with time and the company of loved ones, but your files indicate that you don't have a next of kin, nor do you have any contacts which would consider themselves 'close' with yourself. It seems that this will be a waiting game, and one which we must hope for the best."
Tim was chewing this over, trying to figure out who he was, trying to figure out what this all meant, and searching deep within to gain some insight. At the end of their conversation, he asked the doctor: "Do you think that there's a chance for me?"
"Mister Jones, you've survived ten broken vertabre, a collapsed lung, shattered ribs, and a severe laceration to the jugular-- This is your chance."
This made Tim smile, and he shook the doctor's hand in agreement. As the doctor left, Tim sat up in his bed and stared out at the bustling city-scape before him.
His medicine was that of patience, hope, and carpe diem. With no certainty as to who he was or what he had done before his accident, he was left with the knowledge that, in the light of almost losing everything, he was privileged enough with another day in the sun.
Interrupting his revelation, a nurse came in with his dinner-- and ended up spilling the cup of juice over the front of his robes, apologizing profusely. He laughed, a jovial sound from his ragged throat, and helped her clean him up. "It's fine. Hah, I'm sure you get told this all of the time, but this food is rubbish." After apologizing again, she relaxed too, and offered to sneak him some outside food the next time she came up to him.
And in the end, things were looking up for Tim, because he had finally stopped looking down on everyone else.
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