Driving back from pup (who's happily suffering no apparent deleterious effects of coat lining consumption) I passed someone on the other side of the road at the new bridge near the stadium who'd either broken down or pulled over right to the curb, just as the height of the bridge, and seemed to be talking on a cell phone but circling more than pacing, and then MAYbe (was I imagining it, in my mirror?) moving to climb onto or over the little wall. I went ahead and called 911, and went through a weird series of questions in which I was unable to characterize (I think) her or the vehicle in categorical categorical terms. Then felt foolish for having made the call.
Worst case, they send a car to a stranded motorist, and it's maybe not 911-worthy. Still, I told Bert about it when I got back to the office, on accounta I just wanted to tell someone.
Of course now I'm telling you. But you're not here.
I was in touch with a gut instinct against suicide. Like if that's what she was up to, somebody oughta stop her. Even though it's obviously none of my business.
That bridge isn't that high. People survive higher, lots.