Real life

Imagine an old Charlie Chaplin film.

He steps out of his car (on the top story of a modern day parking garage,) sees the man who is running the street sweeper and says, "Good morning! Running late today, aren't you?"

The street sweeper looks confused. "How did you know that?" He asks with a slightly British accent.

"Because I usually see you on that building over there and this one is clean.) He answers.

Walking toward the staircase, he sees a man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket with his right hand and fumbling in the other with his left. As he passes by, he pulls out his lighter, flicks it and lights the man's cigarette without even pausing.

Down in the street, he sees the glass truck. There was a huge crowd there last night as people gathered to audition for American Idol. He stops next to the old window which is propped up against a tree, a large crack running across it and bits of glass still embedded in the glue around the edges. "Did one of the people in the crowd break that last night?"

"Nope," the man replies just as a huge gust of wind blows down the street and the huge pane of glass, leaning against the tree, tips forward.

He steps in front of that giant pane of glass, blocks it with his right elbow and reaches up to grab it with his left hand, saving it from crashing down and splintering into a thousand pieces of safety glass.

He has one small sliver of glass in his finger that he pulls out and blood dripping from a small cut in his elbow, but no pain at all.

And this really happened, in real life, in real time! Except it wasn't Charlie Chaplin. It was my son.