I blinked the rain from my eyes. The world around me came back into focus. A woman brushed past me as she texted furiously on her phone, her hair stuck down to the sides of her head from the rain. A homeless man sat on the ground, using his sign to shield himself from the rain, still holding out his can of change, hoping for any kind soul to give him something. An ambulance sped by, forcing a drove of annoyed drivers off of the road temporarily. People who were late to work, people who were going to see a friend they hadn’t seen in a while, tens of people who hoped to get to where they were going, forced off of the road for a chance. A chance to save a life, or maybe to start one, you can’t ever be sure. That giant white box screaming down the street, kicking up puddles of rain, it could hold a pregnant woman about to give birth to her first child; it could hold a man, clutching his side, trying desperately to hold himself together; it could hold a person who is already dead, with paramedics rushing around, doing everything they can to bring this person back. Those tinted, rain-covered windows block any knowledge of who or what you are helping, who or what you are seeing.