Everyone in that parking lot was being kind.

That’s the part nobody believes.

They were all being kind, and they took her anyway, and kindness turned out to be no protection at all against the practical decision.

Looking at that photograph of five children gripping each other’s coats, I was not looking at strangers.

I was looking at myself, thirty years back, about to have my fingers peeled loose again — unless somebody who knew the grip did something about it this time.

Chapter 3 — A Single Man