"Can I help you find anything?" he asks. "How 'bout the meaning of life?" I reply. Without hesitation, he tells me, "That's two aisles over, middle shelf, in a small can!"

I thought I'd cured myself of my chronic "foot-in-mouth-itis" -- that is, saying things to people based on assumption, being totally wrong, then feeling like a jerk. But alas, it lingers.

Driving, I'm like a bow being pulled across the strings. Now, I am in the rondo, the third movement, where things that used to matter don't and things that never mattered do; where the mundane appears vivid and even the simplest, most ordinary routines become holy.

I reach out to shake his hand, and he grips my forearm as I grip his. I go to my car and find a dollar in the tray, which I give to Ra, though never did he ask for it. As I drive out I see him mounting his bicycle, ready to ride on now that I'm safe.