There's extra sadness in that no one -- including myself -- stopped him. I know why I didn't: because he was throwing bricks and aiming blows. Trying to talk someone down in that kind of state usually gets you a brick, a punch/kick, or both. It's hard enough with someone you know: doing it with a complete stranger can be seen as begging for a switch of target -- in the eyes of the stranger. There are times to offer words of wisdom and comfort, and there are times to stay way back. But that knowledge doesn't always ease any potential guilt.

(Still, a lot of people in the course of history may have their last words as some form of "I know I can get him to put that down.")

And there's this: we're trained to treat a certain degree of insanity as background noise. How many homeless people do I have panhandling me by calling me friend and sweetheart and dear as I approach and screaming insults when I pass, per diem? I don't keep count -- not any more.

Recently in NYC, we've had incidents of mentally ill people shoving people in front of oncoming subway trains. There have been fatalities and a call to get those with disorders off the streets. But there's also been interviews with regular riders, and what do some of them say? That they're aware of the ranting and mumbling around them, always make sure they're a good distance away from the edge just in case. As part of a daily routine. The madness is scheduled from 7:45 to 7:52 a.m: don't be late. Go ahead and be as crazy as you need to be -- as long as it affects no one else.

Did anyone call the police? I can tell you why I didn't: the traffic jam. Frozen streets for who knew how far out and just about nowhere to pull over to: good luck getting them on the scene in less than forty minutes, and surely he was going to stop. 911 Emergency, Please Hold, Too Late. I don't know if anyone called an ambulance either.

I wonder if he takes the subway.