I had noted him as I prowled the produce aisles. He was peering carefully at the Golden Delicious apples, which made him already interesting as a fellow fruit-lover. They don't make 'em like they used to.
He was talking educationally to his little boy in the cart. A good Tatty, I thought approvingly. He looked weary, but he spoke patiently to his excited young son.
I had in one hand my cart, in another, a bag of zucchini; with an ominous thud-thud-thud, I looked down to see my carefully selected summer squash slipping through a tear, banging into the floor.
"Oh, maaaaan," I emoted in annoyance. I hoped they weren't bruised.
As I knelt to recover them from the floor, I heard a quiet, "Here." The good Tatty was matter-of-factly proffering a replacement bag.
"Thank you," I replied distractedly, taking it and chucking my veggies in.
He silently vanished.
Emerging from the store, I felt . . . upbeat. There is a bounciness when one experiences kindness.
The next morning, I saw a cell phone and keys forlorn on the train seat across. I lunged down the car, tapping the girl on the shoulder. "Is this yours?" She gratefully reclaimed them, and I attempted to vanish discreetly as he did.
There is also a bounciness when one can forward the kindness to another.
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