There's a Body in the Bushes

I went out to bowling and lunch with friends the other day. We took a walk by the piers first and it was a drizzling, but pleasant day. As we passed by some benches where there were shrubbery set directly behind and above the seating, there were birds chirping incessantly and we're like, "Aw, birdies on crack." We turned around and the first thing I saw was a pair of grimy sneakers attached to a pair of legs in cutoff shorts attached to ...

There was a man sleeping in the bushes right behind the benches.

His body was horizontal, reclining on the dirt, half covered by the green underbrush. I presumed he was probably sleeping on the bench and then decided to crawl into the bushes for cover from the rain.

We spun right back around and walked away as quickly as possible.

Two feet away, we paused and threw each other hesitant looks. "Wait ... is he okay?"

"What if he's dead?"

Oh, snap, Hippocratic Oath.

Yeah, we remembered. Suddenly, we were a hovering group of dumb medical students, wondering if the homeless person was injured and if we needed to call the ambulance. And how offended would he be if we grabbed a stick and stuck it under the leaves, maybe give him a little poke, poke to check if he's breathing? Or wait, what if he wasn't a homeless person? What if he was some guy who just wanted to connect with nature and meditate in the bushes? Oh, dear.

We stood there, clutching our umbrellas, and studied the guy. Just as we started to take a step back to him, a park employee rumbled by with his garbage bin and paused next to the man.

Okay, bush man appeared to be fine. Fine enough that he shifted over and continued sleeping there at least. Off we went.

Writing Status: 3 pages into TM Chapter 29.