They laugh at the woman on the street, the one with the weepy eyes and the layers of ragtag clothes. They make fun of her milky irises, and the way that she sits there on a crate in the snow, hand out for change. I used to laugh too, until one day I saw her in a different through another’s eyes.

A girl came out of the coffee shop, carrying a large steaming drink. She knelt in front of the old woman, took her blue hands in her own and wrapped them around the cup as she talked to her.