Run Down

I was in NYC for the first time in weeks, striding up Eighth Avenue on my way to Lincoln Center to photograph the creatures that appear twice a year for Fashion Week. These humanoids do not dress or look like the rest of us and boy do they know it.
About halfway there, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an older man get knocked down by a cyclist who had veered off the sidewalk and onto the street. There was no howling in pain. I guess the poor guy was in shock. The cyclist said nothing. I whispered 'that's actionable' and kept moving.
This is how we act in the city. You stop and get involved, police arrive, there are questions, reports, a crowd. You can easily lose two hours. Most likely the guy was helped up, brushed himself off, mumbled a few curses and both men went on with their day.
Before pointing fingers, ask yourself how many times do you get to see actual fashion models in person? Yes, I felt a twinge of guilt, right up until the first skyscraper model appeared striding toward the tent, so young, so tall, so unwrinkled.