I confess I did not help the woman whose furniture fell out of her truck in the middle of Butler Blvd in the rain.
I confess I watched her struggle to flip her loveseat back on the truck by herself with another bulky arm chair still in the road. I confess that she was in the middle lane, that I pulled into the left lane and rationalized that someone else would help her. That I was late for work. That my stopping would be more dangerous for her. I confess that I drove past.
I confess there is a callousness in me I cannot seem to shake.