To the man who was passed out on the sidewalk at Belmont and Pike: I'm sorry. I watched you for a while to make sure you were still breathing, but I didn't want to disturb your rest. You weren't a typical stew-bum or gutter punk. You were wearing what looked to be soccer gear—field shoes, athletic shorts, sports bag—and you were lying facedown on the concrete. As I paid for parking at the station next to you, you came to semi-consciousness and started moaning, "Ow, ow!" as you writhed around with your useless limbs. I should have asked if you were okay or if you needed help of some sort, but I was late for a meeting, and it was clear you had crapped yourself, and I didn't know how to deal with that. I'm sorry I left you there, but you were gone by the time I got back to my car, so I hope someone had more decency than I and helped you get home safe.