On Monday, it was unseasonably warm here in Chicago. There were lots of people outside. I was sitting on a bench near Lake Michigan, and one of the people I see almost every day was slowly walking towards me. I was reading a book. I looked up when I heard the distinct sound, the cadence of his cane.
He and I always nod at each other, the type of acknowledgement one gives to those people that they see often and whose absence they would feel even if they were strangers and don’t know other’s names.
