Thanksgiving
I felt a gentle nudge at my back when I failed to move up to claim the empty space in the queue as yet another indigent diner took his tray. Only six people away from the front of the line, I’d frozen in my tracks and blinked several times, because even as he disappeared through a swinging door behind the counter, I could hardly believe it was him.
“Sorry.” I turned, and only then realized—shame on me—that the person behind me was a woman with a small child clinging to her arm. I was faced with a decision, one that took only a moment to make. I motioned for the pair to step ahead, as someone else took over scooping the mashed potatoes and ladling the gravy. I would have felt terribly guilty if I had gotten the last of either, and the little one was left without. My turn came
