I was tired, feet fatigued. I only had an hour to spare,
and in the sardine-packed Starbucks it seemed like relaxation
was but a juvenile dream.
All corners were populated, over-impregnated,
but just as I was about to give up and leave,
You, through the kindness of a stranger,
blessed me with peace.
"Miss, please, take my seat. Take this newspaper if you like to read. It’s not much, but you seem like you’ve a lot on your mind. Put aside your burdens, if only for this small frame of time."
The paper was, simply, nondescript. There was no booming headline
or breaking news. There really was nothing but nothing-out-of-
the-ordinary news. There were deaths, thefts, sports columns,
how-to’s. There were pages and pages of ads, sales, more “news.”
But the gleaming grace of the grey ink paper in my hand was not
the paper nor the contents but the moon-eyed man who extended
his hand, his selflessness.
I found the offer to be a rare feat; in the city that never sleeps,
I have been at the butt-end of jokes, the burned cigarette butt
stomped on cold asphalt, but rarely, rarely, have I seen —
even more rarely, have I received — even a semblance
of niceties not two-faced, of amity unsolicited.