Walked to the market for ordinary things. Stopped in the newspaper shop first. The fruit vendor I've been buying from for a year and a half was in the paper. A whole article — the kind nobody writes about the woman who weighs your strawberries and hands back the coins. Read it on the way home. Walked past her stall a different way — not a stranger to a stranger, but a regular who now knew her by name in print. All week I'd been working on being seen. Saturday, the neighborhood saw her.