Where is the love?

So today... I was walked all over. Literally. A fallen woman- trampled. The black spot on New York City's sidewalk- ignored. True to the klutzy gal that I am, this morning's casual sprint led to a tumble near Columbia Pres. which still leads my mind to reel. No one stopped. Not a one. Female jogger: tripped and fell, scraped and bloodied and out of sorts, yet not a single persona stopped to offer assistance. In fact, I was stepped over. People actually ignored my pain, straddled and walked over my sprawled being, and continued on their journey. Now, this is not to say this damsel was in distress or needed assistance, and yet, the realization that my circumstance merited neither concern nor assistance leads me to ponder- where is the love? This instance furthers my speculation that Manhattanites have become completely numb to human sentiments, withdrawn and shuttered from the true sensations of everyday life. So accustomed we become to the glazed over glare, the ignorance is bliss mentality which is oh-so accomodating to sidewalk shuffles and power-stomping our way to the agenda's next appointment. Woman on pavement? Leave it to NYPD ro decide, we have brunch to attend. Is it any wonder we as a society are losing the ability to feel connection, to step outside ourselves, to love? I am Lazarus. I am a blind beggar woman, pock-marked and left to fester so miss Manhattan can grab her Mocha-choca-latta at the local Starbucks and be on her way. Something has to change, or else the isolation which is city life shall grow monumentally, leaving us urban folk with dire desire for good ol' fashioned human connection.

NYC: Where is the love?