He had on sunglasses, held a long black cane, and was quietly tapping it against the pavement. Cars passed on the road between us, and I could see that he was trying to listen for their motors humming as they neared, slowing at the stop sign and then rushing off. I watched him for awhile, trying to decide if he couldn't cross or he didn't intend to.

Nate cracked a joke about him, and, somewhat indignant, I thrust my notebook in his hands and walked out the door, jogging across the pavement, wondering why there weren't twenty other people beating me to it.

He seemed older to me once I neared him, and taller. I wondered if he could hear me walking toward him. A sense of hesitation passed through me, and a tremor of fear, because I didn't want to offend him. You know, you always see these characters on TV shows or whatever, who are old or blind and all full of bad attitude, snapping at anyone who tries to help them.

"Excuse me, sir, do you want to cross here?" I heard myself saying.

"Yes, yes." He replied, and my fear slipped away.

"Can I help you?" I asked, wondering how he pictured me in his mind, if he could even? What did my voice sound like to him? Did I seem safe?

"Yes, thank you," he said, and I reached for his arm but instead took his hand in mine. It was lukewarm, and the skin felt thin and wrinkled like old newspaper. I thought of my grandmother and how her hands always felt this way.

"Lots of traffic tonight," he said as he tapped his cane and we started walking. The streetlights seemed so soft, like a yellow-orange haze around us. Everything felt and appeared so different for the next ten seconds. People walking by seemed to walk in slow motion, and I could hear the clouds moving in the dark black sky as clearly as the trickling water from the fountain across the street.

I propped my elbow up as I held his hand, as if I was holding him up as well. I looked down at the pavement and the white stripes seemed so thick and large, so obvious and necessary. Had I never really noticed them before?

"Halfway, there," I said, hoping it helped. Then I kind of felt stupid. Did he need to know that?

"Some kind of party?" he asked, smiling. I suddenly realized how much noise there was from the people and music at the shop. No wonder he hadn't been able to cross. "Uh, yeah, the coffeehouse," I said sort of chuckling.

We reached the safety of the sidewalk and he began to turn away from me to the left. I didn't want to let go of him. Couldn't I lead him wherever else he was going? Where was he going?

"You alright?" I asked as he moved away. "Yes," he said, already tapping and walking with his back to me. I waited a moment to be sure, and then stepped back into the coffeeshop.

Nate was still standing there, and he smiled and patted me on the back. "Well done."

"Eh," I shrugged. "I wonder where he was going..."

"Probably the bar," he said laughing.

"Maybe," I replied, scrunching up my face to express my skepticism. Something about it made sense, but I was annoyed at that. Where else would a blind man have to go at 11 o clock on a Friday night? It seemed easiest to picture him entering the bar, drowning himself in his sorrows. I mean, he had to have a lot of sorrow if he was blind. Or maybe he was just out for a walk. It was a nice night, wasn't it? Maybe he had no sorrows. Maybe I had more sorrows than him.

Nate interrupted my train of thought commenting, "People just probably aren't really blind and they're just walking around with sunglasses to see what people do."

I rolled my eyes and couldn't believe he could say something so insensitive. "I don't think so," I replied, making another face.

But then later, I had to wonder. I mean, who's to say some greater force out there isn't teaching us and stretching us into better people? You know, all that mumbo jumbo about angels or kharma. I don't know, and I probably never will. I guess the point for me, is to love people. Ordinary people.