I Asked a Bleeding Biker on the Curb if He Needed Help and He Said Save My Dog

911 from my car. My third thought was that this man might die if I didn’t do something.

I ran over and knelt next to him.

He was huge. Sixty maybe, big shoulders, hands covered in calluses and silver rings. There was a cut above his eyebrow that wouldn’t stop bleeding. His knuckles were torn up, raw to the bone in places. He had fought back hard. But continue reading …