I’m about to enter the train station at Union Square when I see an elderly woman approaching. Her gaze has seemingly locked onto mine, and as she hobbles toward me (walking with a cane, her entire, small body tilted at a slight angle to the left), I realize that she intends to ask me a question, and that, to that ends, I am the only person in the universe who exists for her right now. I smile and lean forward to hear her voice against the din of the city: ‘Could you tell me how to get to Broadway?’ she asks. ‘Which way do I turn?’ ‘Actually,’ I say, ‘you’re already going in the right direction; just continue one more block and you’ll be at Broadway.’ ‘Oh, wonderful,’ she says, ‘thank you ever so much.’ She nods her head and smiles. Her heartfelt appreciation for such a small piece of information, which anyone could have given, touches me deeply.