I’m standing at Downtown Crossing, engrossed in people watching. The hum of activity is warm and wonderful; a fruit vendor is cheerfully trying to unload some overripe strawberries (”Yeah, they’re horrible aren’t they?” he readily admits to a shopper). Activists and salespeople, shoppers and businessfolk, all shifting through the intersection.

A cyclist wheels by, and before he passes me, he says to himself: “Even God can’t help but love sinners like us.” I catch his eye, and we smile at one another before he rides by.