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people!”
    “No!” I snickered. “Boy, you
are
from out of town. Hot dogs are made from pork or beef.”
    “Ah, I understand. Then I would like a hot…dog.”
    “You got it, Ali Baba.”
    “Why do you call me this?”
    “I have to call you something. You still haven’t told me your name.”
    I spotted a food cart across the street and indicated for him to follow me to the crosswalk. He tagged along placidly, and while we waited to cross, he said, “Amon. My name is Amon.”
    “Right. Amon.” He didn’t pronounce it like
Ammon.
His version was a much more swoon-inducing “Ah-
moan,
” providing, of course, that one would swoon over a guy who was obviously not all there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Amon from Thebes.”
    “I am not from Thebes.”
    “No?”
    “I was born in Itjtawy in the time of the Dark One’s reign.”
    “Right. And Itjtawy is in what country, exactly?”
    “You would likely know my land as Egypt.”
    Really, why did the good-looking, interesting guys always have to end up being MIA upstairs?
His body had reached cruising altitude, but the pilot had obviously called in sick. “So should I call you Pharaoh Amon or King Amon?” I teased, playing along.
    “I was to be a king, but the time of the pharaohs was after my own.”
    “Uh-huh.” This was getting easier. I finally felt like I was getting back in control. “Well, that’s okay. You shouldn’t feel bad. Titles don’t make the man. Am I right?”
    Amon folded his arms across his chest and regarded me. “You are laughing at me.”
    “Never. I wouldn’t mock an almost-king-slash-non-pharaoh.”
    His expression was doubtful and a little more shrewd than I felt comfortable with, but he let it go, watching the action on the street instead. He seemed fascinated by the traffic—the honking, noisy, fist-waving, tire-screeching action. It was almost like he’d never seen a car before. Which was impossible. There were maybe—
maybe
—only a handful of people in the entire world who didn’t know what a car was.
    When the light changed, Amon waited for the traffic to come to a stop. He didn’t move until I took his hand.
    “Come on!” I entreated. “The light will change soon and the drivers don’t really care if you’re still in the way.”
    After I mentioned the possibility of another accident, he rushed forward, gripping my hand and tugging me along as he weaved quickly among the other pedestrians to get safely to the other side. “I do not trust those golden chariots,” he declared, while giving the taxis the evil eye.
    “Yeah, well, travel by golden chariot is pretty much essential in Manhattan.”
    “I thought you said we were in the city of New York,” he said as I guided him to the hot dog cart.
    “We are. Manhattan is the name of the island.”
    “Island?” he mumbled. “We are indeed far from Thebes.”
    “Yes, we are,” I said in an exaggerated voice as if I were talking to a child. Gently, I patted his arm as if he were an invalid. “So let’s get you a hot dog, put my phone back together, and call social services to come pick you up.” I hadn’t decided on a course of action until that moment, but it felt like the right one. I was suddenly exhausted. This guy was in need of more help than I could give him, and I wanted to remedy the situation as soon as possible.
    “Why is there a service to lift people? I can walk. Ah…you mean a litter. Yes, that is appropriate.”
    “Indeed it is.” I smiled at him, utterly confused by our conversation.
    “Whaddya want?” the hot dog vendor barked after giving Amon the once-over.
    “Two dogs with the works and a soda,” I replied.
    Amon, if that was his real name, stood right behind me as if guarding my back from the people passing. He watched with curiosity as the vendor got my order together. When the vendor was finished I handed Amon the food before fishing out a ten-dollar bill from my wallet. After stuffing the change into the guy’s tip