Before the storm, Philip would frequently get a kick contemplating his situation: a solitary guy who enjoyed living amongst the horde. Long-distance running seemed more akin to Philip’s nature. And as close to passion as it got. Those local road races he participated in (likewise casual Reservoir jogs) provided a microcosm of city life – alone amid others. But easiness wasn’t relevant tonight. Official closing time approached. Philip was ready. Instinctively, he took his meds. This elicited mordant chuckling. Central Park awaited.
A police sergeant found the body. Her off-the-cuff remark furnished tabloid fodder for days: “He ran himself to death.”
