The biker across from me on the subway was crying. And I don’t mean a little tear rolling down his cheek—he was openly, loud sobbing, clutching a tiny orange-and-white kitten to his chest like it was the only thing holding him together. The kitten’s fur was all ruffled, its tiny paws pressed against his worn leather vest, and it purred so loudly I could hear it over the clatter of the train wheels. He looked rough and tough. His leather vest was covered in old patches, his hands scarred and

The lunch rush at the store was always wild, but that day felt like a full-on battlefield. Workers in wrinkled uniforms grabbed sandwiches like their lives depended on it. People on strict thirty-minute breaks ran around with coffee in one hand and their phone in the other. Moms were pushing carts with toddlers clinging to them like tiny koalas. Everything was loud, messy, and frantic — basically the usual. I was knee-deep in a stubborn sparkling-water display that kept collapsing like it had a personal grudge against me. Suddenly, I