The ambulance driver⁸

About six months ago when I was running on Union Turnpike around four in the morning, an ambulance driver asked me if I could tell him how to get to a particular place. He was drinking something — beer, I think — and going against a red light. Perhaps he was late. I thought to myself, “What is the matter with that fellow?”

I could not tell him how to get to his destination. There was also a truck driver nearby, but instead of asking the truck driver, he started saying bad words. Finally he said, “Hell with you!” I replied, “Heaven with you.”