One early fall morning some years ago, I decided to walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and spend a few hours there before meeting a friend for lunch.
It was one of those days when the weather could not make up its mind between bright and sunny or cool and cloudy. I grabbed a sweater from the closet, wrapped it around my waist and set off.
After wandering through the museum’s galleries for a while, I headed south on Fifth Avenue to meet my friend. The sun had just disappeared behind a large bank of gray clouds, and I was glad I’d brought a sweater.
Standing at a corner waiting for the light to change, a man at a hot-dog stand waved and called out to me.
“Lady, are you walking as far as 72nd Street?” he asked me.
He reached under his cart and pulled out a light blue windbreaker.
“Could you please take this to my wife?” he said. “She has a hot dog cart just like this one.”
“Of course,” I replied, grabbing the jacket just as the light turned green. The man grinned and waved.
About 10 minutes later, I spotted a shiny steel hot-dog cart. A woman stood beside it, her shirt collar turned up against the cool breeze.
“Your husband sent you this,” I said, handing her the jacket.
“Oh, thank you so much,” she replied with a smile, quickly putting the jacket on. “He is a good man.”
— Faith Andrews Bedford