This was a dream I had last night, just before I woke up and read the prompt:

I was walking across York Street in New Haven holding my father’s hand. There was a man wearing rags and lying face down in the gutter on the corner, his body flattened against the grate. (The phrase I want to use here is “macabre waffle” but those two words sound insane and inappropriately hilarious in conjunction.) My dad tugged my hand to steer me away and told me not to look. He said that it was very sad but I couldn’t help. I kept walking with him for a few seconds until I realized what I was walking away from. The man was lying in the street and the next car to come turn right was going to run over him, if he hadn’t been run over already. I yanked my hand out of my dad’s and ran back to the corner and stood over the man’s body in the middle of the street, frantically deciding what to do. I asked him his name and if he was alright, and told him he had to move now, but he didn’t respond. He just laid there face down. I knew if I bent over I would get run over too, and I couldn’t lift him on my own. I needed people to help me stop traffic and help me pick up the man. I started asking strangers for help but people barely even bothered to stop and look. I heard a truck coming up behind me and the driver didn’t see us. I lifted up my palm, five fingers sticking straight out, and screamed at the truck: “STOP!!!”