A businessman checked his back
pocket as I approached.
Near the corner of Grand and Fifth, I passed a man sitting beside a cardboard sign asking for help.
He wore an old coat and had a gray beard.
As I walked past, he looked directly at me and gave a small nod.
I returned it.
He was the only stranger who acknowledged me during the entire walk.
At noon, I opened the glass doors of Rosie’s.
The little bell above the entrance rang.
I had installed that bell eleven years earlier because the Blue Plate had one just like it.
The restaurant was only half full.
I could see several empty tables near the windows.
Behind a modern black hostess stand stood a young woman with blonde hair tied into a ponytail.
Madison.
She was looking at her phone.
When she finally raised her eyes, she examined my clothes and immediately frowned.
