Walking home from the park, we meet a small scrum of children coming down the sidewalk the other way, their parental escort in tow.
Because we're trying not to accidentally kill anyone with diseases too small to see, we give them a wide berth by standing off to one side, hugging the fence, and they pass us by.
Except for one of the children, a thin tow-headed kid bringing up the rear, who, ignoring the path the others took, blithely ambles within inches of me as I press up against the wrought-iron gate to a looming brownstone.
When I make eye contact with Katie, she says, "I saw that kid at the grocery store yesterday - I recognize his jacket."
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