This column first appeared at Huffington Post.com. Comments omitted here.
By Beth Arnold
I saw a man die today. I'd gone in the lounge to open a window and saw him sprawled on the sidewalk across the street. He was dressed in a navy suit, and on his splayed feet, he wore black lace-ups. I could see stripes of thin dress socks above them and disappearing under his trousers. His hair was jet-black though I couldn't see his face. Two firemen/paramedics hunched over him, one pumping his chest with a round accordion-like device and the other giving oxygen. To save his life, they'd ripped open his white shirt and slightly pulled his pants down. The men worked slowly and methodically while the man stretched below them didn't move. A crowd had gathered in a crescent moon around them, another watched across the street.
By Beth Arnold
I saw a man die today. I'd gone in the lounge to open a window and saw him sprawled on the sidewalk across the street. He was dressed in a navy suit, and on his splayed feet, he wore black lace-ups. I could see stripes of thin dress socks above them and disappearing under his trousers. His hair was jet-black though I couldn't see his face. Two firemen/paramedics hunched over him, one pumping his chest with a round accordion-like device and the other giving oxygen. To save his life, they'd ripped open his white shirt and slightly pulled his pants down. The men worked slowly and methodically while the man stretched below them didn't move. A crowd had gathered in a crescent moon around them, another watched across the street.
I live in Paris and have been staying at a friend's place while he was out of town. I was a visitor, a foreigner to this block. This was his neighborhood, not mine. I saw this man losing his life because my friend went away. I was glued to my spot.
