It’s Sunday morning, about 6 a.m., and I’m walking alone in the Boston Common park. Normally Lucy would be by my side, but she’s still in bed sleeping off the six cocktails she drank last night. Apparently so is everybody else. I see a runner far off in the distance and on the adjacent street a solitary [唯一的] taxi just whizzed by, otherwise the park is desolate [空空如也]. The sun is just climbing above the tree line, the sky is blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds, there’s a warm breeze — this is going to be a gorgeous day! “Help!” I hear. Again, “Help me!” But from where? Who? There! I didn’t even realize, I’m not alone! Just ahead there’s an old man sitting on a park bench. His coffee is spilt on the sidewalk. He’s slumped over and both hands are grasping his chest. Immediately I begin running toward him and before I even reach him, I’ve already dialed 9–1–1.