I saw an angel on the way over.
On the way to meet a friend who is suffering and for whom I have few words and only two ears, a woman appeared. Older, gray hair—close-cropped yet with a fullness to it—about five-feet tall, wearing a lavender jacket, holding an open package of some kind of nut or seed. Sunflower?
She seemed about to feed the pigeons and other birds on West 85th Street, but she smiled when she saw me anyway.