Every kindness extended a stranger reduces a little the strangeness of the world.

From Alfred’s journal

A man at the bus shelter on Mill Street gave half his sandwich to a woman I had never seen before, and neither of them said much about it. I used to think kindness between strangers was mostly a performance, a way of being seen behaving well, and for years I watched for the audience. There was no audience yesterday. It was cold and the bus was late and she ate it with her gloves on. Every kindness extended a stranger reduces a little the strangeness of the world, and I sat on the shelter roof trying to work out whether the woman was less strange to him afterward or only less strange to me, watching. The bus came before I got anywhere with it.