[3 min read]
I was seated in a car one hot afternoon when I became conscious of something warm and moist against my arm. Without looking down to confirm, I knew what it was, so I instead looked at the person, and from one look, I understood her. She is a woman, a mother and a sacrificial one at that. Her hands were filled with callouses from working too hard to make a living. There was no way she was as old as she looked; her face was etched with lines. Too many lines. I could have adjusted or moved my arm, I could have, I don't like the feeling of another person's sweat on me, still, I didn't move my arm. I just sat there and imagined her life and it humbled me.