“May I help you?” a gray blur in front of me asked.
“Uh, thanks. Where’s Wendy?”
“On vacation. You’re stuck with me today. Sorry.” A pause. “You’re very good at it, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re visually impaired, but you’re pretty cute about it. No obvious signs. Eyes don’t look damaged. Let me guess. You were sighted most of your life. I can tell because you still turn your eyes toward the speaker. Your head moves naturally. You don’t hold yourself like you’re just listening to a person, you engage with him.”
“Force of habit, I guess. You’re sighted, I take it.”
“Yeah. Twenty-twenty. But I’ll try not to let that get in the way.”
I laughed, appreciating how this man didn’t coddle my affliction. He approached it head-on, but respectfully.
I held out a hand. “Name’s Russ Go
