FREE TO A GOOD HOME said the wicker chair by the big bin on the corner. I touched it; it rocked back and forth. Uneven pavement there; the chair itself was steady. I couldn't use it, of course, but was getting ready to start thinking about whether I wanted it. When came a noise, like, "Noo!" It was the girl with the short pants on the bike that had passed me slowly, coasting and tapping the stone wall with her hand. "Do you want it?" I said. I have become much more easy with strangers in the last eight years. I said it encouragingly. "Oh, I was just thinking," she said—her accent, she's an immigrant like me—"because at work we just sit on these boxes, and it's." Without pity. Man I had nothing on that. I was thinking, Maybe would this be better than my other straight chair? But I hadn't gotten that far, cause I knew I couldn't use it. Was it unsteady? she wanted to know. No it wasn't! I told her cheers, yes really, and she took it and it was pleasant walking in the warm night under the crescent moon.