Her name is Maria. Her hair is striped pinkish-red and black, a remnant of her Halloween disguise from the night before. We've come in for lunch, but she wants to talk, so we do. Did we party last night? She did, and it was hard for her to get up this morning, but here she is, smiling. She and her sister both work here, opposite shifts, so that they can take turns watching her sister's baby. They help each other, she explains, because they're all they have. She loves watching her sister's baby, but she doesn't want any babies of her own just yet. She wants to be a pediatrician. She is eighteen.

Our food arrives, neatly packaged in styrofoam containers. As we're leaving, my husband the musician asks his eternal question: what's her favorite kind of music? This is the first time she's hesitated. After a pause, she shyly confesses that she loves oldies. Otis Redding, The Platters. We say goodbye, until next time, and walk out into the sunlight. We don't say much. We just smile.

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This post is linked to Tuesdays Unwrapped, a tradition hosted by the lovely Emily at Chatting at the Sky in which she invites her readers to appreciate small, wonderful things. It's about finding something special in the ordinary things around you, and pressing the pause button in order to reflect on it, to take it in. Here's the link to today, unwrapped.