A little old lady waiting for the bus saw my hair was going wild in the wind and my cheeks were pink with cold. I thought I’d be polite so I paused my music, took off my headphones, and asked about her day. She says she has a granddaughter who’s a spoiled brat, an only child who gets whatever she wants. “You remind me of my Natalie,” she says, “but not spoiled. You don’t look spoiled.” I thanked her with a warm smile prompting her to take a step towards me to pull my hood up around my ears and we waited peacefully for the 115.