Option 1

I stand there, in the doorway of her shop, waiting for my daily coffee and bread. Closing my eyes, I slowly take in the aroma of freshly baked bread coming out of the oven and steaming coffee being pored into the cup of people much too busy with their lives to notice me. I open my eyes just as She comes out of the back, holding my coffee and milk in one hand and a bag, with some fresh bread and yesterday's left over dessert, in the other. A nod of thanks is all I offer, for she never accepts a verbal acknowledgment. As I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of a woman sitting at a table watching me, and I begin to think. What did she think about that interaction? What does she think is the motivation for giving me this food. I wonder if she had guess the truth. That on a cold winter night, the owner saw me take refuge under the expansion of her roof, and has since been giving my survival. I wonder if she knows that it was pure compassion.