The old man in the wheelchair looked over, his eyes meeting mine from below the brim of his Buffalo Sabres cap.
I apologized for the infant squirming in my lap. It was mid-April, and Max, our baby boy, had wailed the entire way from the newborn ward of Sisters Hospital to the building’s main entrance. Now, as we waited for our ride by the facility’s revolving doors, Max continued to scream. But the old man wasn’t upset.