A car swerved around the old man in the crosswalk so brazenly that he felt he understood why that old man then hurled his cane at it.  But now the old man stood, unable to cross.  Feeling himself an accomplice to weaponizing that cane, he dashed from his cafe table to offer the old man a hold of his arm.  The old man paid him no heed.  He was still in the moment of his confrontation with the car — in a rage, glaring at his own shoes as if he’d hurl them too if only he could reach down to them.  Sir, he implored, we’ve got to cross.  The old man strained to move on his own, but in chase of the car.  He even pointed to that car now four streetlights down, and only then did he realize that the old man was actually pointing to his cane a few feet from his feet.  He fetched it, crossed the street alongside the old man and, then, back at his table, stayed a while, lost in how easy it was to overlook that a weapon before it is used is often a crutch.